Marvelous
by Halcyon Electric
Summary: She was a different kind of woman. Strong, independent, professional. She knew exactly what she wanted and who she wanted to be. Until she began working as assistant to the CEO of Stark Industries. Then it all went to hell. Comicverse character adaption: Ms. Marvel/ Captain Marvel. Featuring Black Panther, Spider-Woman, Mockingbird, and Spider-Man. BETA READER WANTED!
1. Chapter 1: Oh My God

**Opening A/N: So yeah. Another Avengers fic. Yay.**

**My name is Halcyon Electric, but you can call me Hal, and this is my first ever fanfiction on this site! Yay!**

**This is the first entry in a series of stories I will be doing that implement Marvel comic-verse characters into the movie-verse. I was really disappointed by the very few Marvel characters that we created, and often how they were adapted. I was really hoping for this story's central character was going to be in the Avengers Movie, but alas, she was not. Oh well. There's always a sequel!**

**Review are good. Concrit, flames, praise, I take it all. Just please review.**

**Rated T For: Violence, Mild Language, Some Incredibly Sparse and Brief Sexual Content, Blood and Gore.**

**Have fun reading!**

"Oh. My. _God."_

The young woman whispered to herself in awe as she beheld the futuristic behemoth of steel and glass. Tall and proud, it stood as a beacon of prosperity and ingenuity, created by the wealth of the greatest nation on earth. The early morning sunlight glinted off of the upper crown of windows that encircled the building, and caused the young woman to squint as it pierced the lenses of her glasses. At the tower's base, doors did not remain static for more than a moment or so, as people hurried in and out to fulfill their duties. To add to the building's staggering appearance, the letters S, T, A, R, K announced boldly to the world to whom this center of technology, innovation, and general bad-assery belonged.

In short, Stark Tower was rather impressive.

The woman on the sidewalk swallowed slowly as the stood motionless in front of the imposing tower. Her briefcase-laden palms began to sweat, and slight chills caused her knees to quiver. In her mind, she had every right to be nervous. It was her first day on the job as personal assistant to the CEO of Stark Industries. At first glance, this may seem like one of the easiest, and not to mention best paying, jobs available in New York City at the time. But this business tycoon is not ordinary CEO. This CEO is a rather childish man known for his eccentric ways and diva outbursts; not to mention his skills in womanizing. She had heard the horror stories; one of which included the man firing one assistant within an hour because she added too much sugar to his coffee, and then sleeping with her that night. The memory of hearing the story caused the woman to swallow again, a lump of terror forming in her throat. But the most terrifying thing of all by far, was the fact that she would be working in the same building as_ Them. _She shivered again at the thought of those _people_. Her mind began to point out all of the reasons that _They _would be a problem. "_Maybe this isn't such a good idea," _the young woman's fear whispered softly.

In a moment, the young woman's pride asserted itself to the forefront of its quivering mistress's mind. "_C'mon, scardey-cat! It's just a job! A civilian job at that! Damn it, you can do this!"_

This sudden surge of confidence caused the woman to instantly straighten her posture from its previous borderline-cowering state. She shook her head sharply in an attempt to dispel the lingering fear, but to no avail. The fears hooked its claws into her mind and, while considerably lessened, remained as a tingle in the recesses of her brain. A moment later, she could hear the "clack-clack-clack"-ing of her new work shoes against the pavement as they walked her across the street, taking care not to jay-walk of course, and towards the large revolving doors. The mouth of the beast, her fear whispered.

The to-be assistant was greeted by a swarm of activity the moment the stepped through the doors of Stark Tower. She arched her eyes in surprise. Even the lobby seemed to be a place of business. Men and women in dark suits bustled about, entering, leaving, conversing. The young woman was glad that this place was so professional. However, he woman paid the scurrying masses little attention as she kept her eyes locked on her target: the front desk. A cheery, middle-aged woman with sandy-blond hair sitting behind it made eye contact with the young woman as she drew near and smiled as she placed her brief case on the black tile floor.

"Good day, ma'am, and welcome to Stark Tower," the desk attendant chirped in a sugary sing-song voice, "How may I help you?"

The young woman smiled firmly and gave the woman across the desk a curt nod of greeting before she spoke.

"Yes, hi. I'm here for the executive assistant position," she stated, the last sentence ending almost too much like a question for the young woman's taste. She reached down to her brief case, unclasped it, and rummaged around in it for a moment before returning and placing a thick manila folder on the cherry-wood desk. The young woman smiled again briefly before continuing,

"It's my first day on the job, and I was told to start here, to figure out where I'm situated and everything." The desk attendant opened the folder and peered thoughtfully down onto the top paper before looking back at the woman, a large smile having etched itself across her slightly-wrinkled face.

"Of course! I was told you'd be here today," the woman, who judging by her name tag was named Lisa, sang as she handed the file back to the young woman. The young woman attempted to hide a cringe with a weak smile. She had not expected such friendliness in this sort of place. Lisa held up her index finger to signal that she needed a moment before spinning around in her swivel chair and rummaging about beneath the desk, while the young woman stood patiently surveying her surroundings.

It was odd, how even the interior of such a grand building could strike awe into the young woman's heart. The ceiling consisted of a large orange marble dome that was situated upon six Greek-style stone pillars that were placed in the corners of the oddly hexagonal building. Several fichus trees dotted the indoor landscape, usually accompanied by stiff looking yet posh couches and chairs. Wall-height windows allowed some natural light to enter, although the room was gratuitously bright thanks to the large, elegant light fixtures that were attached to the marble ceiling. It was grand by any standard, if not a little showy. "_It's going to take a while to get used to this",_ thought the young woman with a sigh.

She snapped back to attention as she heard a large object being placed upon the desk. It appeared to be a topless cardboard box filled with desk items, ranging from pens and rulers to a custom-crafted name plate that could sit proudly at the front of her desk. On top of the heap lay a small slip of paper, which the young woman took and began to read: **314****th**** Floor. Desk #31.** The young woman relayed her thanks to Lisa as she attempted to manhandle the cumbersome box off of the desk and grab her briefcase. As she clumsily made her way towards the large grand elevator, she couldn't help the giddiness bubbling inside of her as it brought a silly grin to her face. Sure, she was scared, but she knew that she was going to enjoy this job. She had always been a professional individual, with a strict work ethic and a stubbornness most mules would be jealous of. She was in her element now and, she just knew, nothing was going to stand in her way. She had worked hard to be where she was today, and nothing was going to take that from her. The elevators doors fortunately opened just as she neared them, and she hurried in, eager to put down her cumbersome burden.

With the box and the briefcase nestled safely in the corner of the elevator, the young woman sighed and began to straighten her suit jacket and skirt, as well as make sure her overall appearance was presentable with the reflective inner walls of the elevator. Her eyes surveyed the image before, and began to scrutinize the reflection for any blemish. Her honey-blond hair had remained in its tight ponytail since that morning. Check. Her glasses were free of any smudge or scratch that would hinder her vision, and the dark blue eyes beneath them had been outlined with a liberal amount of make-up that remained un-smudged. Check. Her navy blue suit was free of lint or any other miscellaneous blemish. Check. Her shoes, black high heels, had miraculously not inflicted upon her any unnecessary pain that usually accompanied high heeled shoes. The young woman exhaled the breath she had not been aware that she had been holding in, and smiled. Suddenly, her smile tightened into a panicking grimace. Lipstick. Bright, obvious, "Moulan Rouge" red lipstick. On. Her Teeth. Only one word seemed appropriate to the young woman in her current predicament:

"Fuck."

With a tenacity only seen in women in the midst of a make-up malfunction, the young woman began to assault the scarlet stain on her teeth, her index finger scrubbing madly at her afflicted incisors. To her relief, the lipstick appeared to be coming off, staining her finger a bloody red. After a couple more moments of scouring her teeth, the lipstick had all but vanished from her tooth. Sighing in total relief, the young woman regained her composure, all the lightly massaging her index finger to relieve it of the redness. She had to look professional today, and as far as she knew, proffessionals did not have red fingers. Or lipstick stained teeth

Satisfied, she rummaged through the box once again and uncovered a small, plain-black name tag. The young woman smiled as she held it in her hands, caressing is smooth surface. With a final triumphant sigh, she pinned the name tag to her breast pocket and straightened her posture. "**Carol Danvers**" was ready for anything this job could throw at her. As she smirked boldly into her reflection, she said four simple words:

"Let's do this shit."

And the elevator doors slid closed.


	2. Chapter 2: Kree

**A/N: Well, this is Marvelous, chapter 2, in case you couldn't tell.**

**This is my first story on Fanfiction, so please read and review!**

**For additional information as to WHY I'm writing this story, and some more of the actual story itself, please refer to Chapter 1 if you haven't already.**

**Reviews are the greatest gift a writer can give to another writer, so please review. Concrit, praise, flames, I take it all.**

**Also, if you're a Marvel Comics nerd like me, you may notice how I changed the appearance of the central villain(s) in this story, but if you're not please read on and forget this.**

**Happy ****Reading****!**

**P.S. I own no characters from this story, just their new adaptations.**

"You did WHAT?!"

"I hired an assistant, Tony. Why is this such a big deal?"

The two business tycoons had just begun their seemingly busy work day. Or one party had at least. Virginia "Pepper" Potts, Chief Executive Officer of Stark Industries, hurriedly sifted through the mountains of paper that currently adorning her desk, earning a little victory for each necessary ledger or memo she discovered. Her black business suit was had been dry-cleaned the day before, so it was clean and crisp, and her auburn hair was swept into a professional-looking bun. The small briefcase at her hunched side was neatly organized, with all of the necessary equipment she would need for that day's meetings and occurrences. If anyone in the world was prepared for a work day, it was Pepper.

Her companion, Anthony "Tony" Stark was, in almost a crude pun, in stark contrast to his female associate's prepared and professional appearance. He was dressed in a slightly-too-big black t-shirt emblazoned with the band KISS's insignia across the chest and a simple pair of flannel sleeping bottoms. Also unlike his associate, he had been idly spinning in the enormous black leather chair that Pepper had stationed behind her desk, a bemused grin sloppily thrown across his face, in a similar fashion as to how he got dressed that morning. He had spent the morning following Pepper around like a lost puppy dog, since he had nothing more to occupy his idle time after his retirement from the CEO position. Yes, it had been a morning like any other for the pair.

Until Pepper had said that one fateful word.

_Assistant._

In that moment, a thousand words and images had rushed into Tony's mind, the most prominent of which depicted Pepper being "assisted" by an attractive man who obviously had other intentions. It was the natural cycle of things for Tony: see pretty face, sleep with pretty face, so he naturally assumed that this was the way things were with all people. His feet slammed upon the cold black marble of the floor, which brought his frivolous spinning to a rather abrupt halt. The man's face contorted into a combination of a grimace and a gaping expression. His stubble-covered jar hung slack, and his paling knuckles were clenched upon the arms of the chair.

Pepper halted her movements and faced Tony, her hands on her hips and her head cocked to the side.

"Well?" Her tone was insistent and slightly frustrated, but calm nonetheless. It was obvious to Tony that she didn't have time for this, but right now, he didn't care.

Despite his many titles, the genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist Tony Stark, for once in his life, had absolutely nothing to say. He seemed content to remain gaping at his fiancée. After a minute-long pause, the man's vocal cords seemed to short-circuit, firing off an undecipherable string of words.

"B-but…when…what…how could…I…you…When did this happen?!"

Tony's expression of surprise quickly tightened into one of anger. His brow furrowed and his jaw set into a deep scowl in reaction to how nonchalant Pepper was being about the whole thing. Said female arched an eyebrow at her fiancée, while returning to her previous activity of collecting papers into a rather cumbersome stack, frowning slightly at his outburst.

"Last weekend, Tony, the 23rd. You were there, remember?"

In reality, Tony Stark had almost zero recollection of the instance in which this _assistant _had been thrust into his future-wife's life, and in turn, his life. He had been nursing his weekly Sunday hangover, as usual, when his "morning escapades" with Pepper had been so rudely interrupted by the shrieking of the Pepper's cell phone. Pepper left the room, leaving a rather grumpy Tony, for about an hour, which was the optimum amount of time for Tony's uncanny pouting abilities to set it. She returned, but Tony could not decipher exactly what she had said, since his pout was in full swing at this point. This morning, however, he attempted to save what little face he still had and replied,

"Uh…y-yeah, I remember. I guess it just hadn't settled in until now. What the hell do you need an assistant for, Pep? You've got this whole…" he frantically gestured his arms in an attempt to encompass the entirety of the building, "…thing covered by yourself. What would this so-called_ assistant_ even do?!" Tony was standing at this point, his chest puffed out and his fists clenched.

Pepper paused for a moment, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Tony's expression quickly contorted into one of worry, as he understood that this was what Pepper always did before he got his ass kicked. As expected, Pepper fiercely about-faced towards Stark, her face a visage of righteous fury, and proceeded to chunk her entire stack of collected papers into her fiancé's face. Papers of varying size and color diffracted in all directions, flapping clumsily, some striking their target but most fluttering gracelessly to the cold marble floor. Tony Stark instinctively placed his hands in front of his face to protect him from the ever-dangerous paper projectiles and the balled fist or open palm that he expected to follow.

In contrast to most stereotypes towards red-headed individuals, Pepper Potts only rarely lost her temper, her patience bred from years of dealing with her arrogant lover, but when she was finally pushed over the edge, the effects could be easily described as apocalyptic. The red-headed woman began to shout in a voice that could easily be compared to the cacophonies of an erupting volcano.

"UNDER CONTROL!? UNDER CONTROL!? ARE YOU BLIND, TONY? I MEAN LOOK AT OF ALL OF THIS!"

Ms. Potts mimicked Mr. Stark earlier frantic motions as she gestured towards the still-falling papers. Her venomous glare met his look that was akin to a deer about to be struck by a car. Strands of her flaming hair had escaped their ponytail prison, and dangled over her purple-rimmed eyes. She continued her scolding, but in a slightly less volcanic fashion.

"Look, Tony. Look at everything I've been doing for the past few months. Five or six meetings per day, all of which are full of people who want to destroy this company. More paperwork than any human being should have to deal with. Trips to Tokyo, Gaza, Paris, or wherever the hell else on an almost weekly basis. I haven't even gotten more than maybe 10 hours of sleep in total in God-knows-how-long. And your whining when I don't want to get funny with you every single night. It's a lot to deal with for one woman, Tony!" She paused for a moment, her anger fizzling into exhausted surrender. "I shouldn't be yelling at you, I'm sorry. But look at me, Tony. I'm tired of this."

Tony's doe-eyed expression melted into concern as he absorbed his lover's appearance. Her pale complexion was blotched with red. Her usually cheerful and mischievous blue eyes were glassy and rimmed with purple, saggy flesh. She seemed thinner, but in an unhealthy way, in comparison to her usually very fit physique. Even her posture was slumped, and her beautiful hair seemed to be thinning. Suddenly, an idea came to his mind.

"Let me help, Pep. I did this for years before you became CEO. Please, give some to me."

Pepper smiled weakly and meekly stated, "Now I'm going to have to pick all of those up," as she momentarily deflected Tony's statement and stooped to begin recollecting the scattered documents. After a moment or so of the idea floating awkwardly in the air, Pepper responded, "Thank you, Tony, but we both know you can't do paper work. There would be random doodles all over it, and the words were rarely legible, just like when I used to review yours." Said genius and apparent chicken-scratch artist swooped down to grab a few of the loose papers, crumpling a few in the process. As he handed his papers to Pepper, an apologetic look on his face, she continued. "And, you have the uncanny ability to make almost everyone you meet hate you, so the meetings and traveling are a no." The pair shared a smile, his a smirk and hers a gentle up-turn of the corners of her mouth. It was moments such as these that caused both of them to realize how lost they would be without each other. She kept him grounded, while he kept her from taking life too seriously. It was an odd relationship, but it worked for them.

Tony arched an eyebrow and continued to smirk at his lover as he said, "Well, does that mean you hate me too?"

Her smile gently grew as she rolled her eyes and she responded with, "Nope. I could never hate you. For more than a week, anyways."

"Oh, what makes you so special?"

"It's a gift, Mr. Stark, it really is."

The two grew closer until their lips happily met, the papers forgotten for that tender moment, until Pepper gently broke away.

"So about the assistant."

Tony's increasingly dirty thoughts about what could occur on the desk just behind him were quickly dashed aside, and a grumpy pout replaced his smirk. It was an accepting kind of smirk, the kind he knew only Pepper would understand. Pepper rolled her eyes and placed the papers on her probably thankful desk and smoothed out her suit jacket. She began to explain the situation,

"She'll be here in about an hour, so I would like you to be dressed and clean when she gets here. From what I've read on her she's a-"

Pepper was quickly cut off by Tony's rather rude yet piqued interest.

"Wait, "she?" As in female?" When his companion nodded in a bored fashion, many of his previous worries drifted away and he relaxed. Pepper continued,

"Yes, SHE's a very fastidious girl. 26, college educated from Princeton, ex-Air Force, and-"

Once again, Tony's lack of tact struck again as he interrupted Ms. Potts a second time.

"So she's a military chick. Like Steve!" It was well-known that Tony Stark and Steve Rogers did not see eye-to-eye on most subjects, but any jabs from either of them (read: Tony) were taken in jest. Pepper rolled her eyes.

"Ok, whatever floats your boat, Tony. She-"

Strike three for Stark.

"Maybe I could hook them up. It's about time Captain Chastity got out of his comfort zone AND out of his pants. I wonder if-"

Now, it was Pepper's turn to interrupt.

"If you interrupt me one more time, Stark, I swear I will kick your ass. So summary: smart, young, ex-military, professional girl. Name: Carol Danvers."

"Sexy name. I hope she's hot."

Just as Pepper was about to open up her signature can of whoop-ass on Tony, a familiar and rather British electronic voice came from the ceiling.

"_Master Stark, sir?"_

Sighing with the relief of once again being saved by his virtual assistant, Tony responded.

"Good morning, JARVIS. What is it?"

"_Good morning, Master Stark. It appears Agent Romanoff has requested a video conference with you. She claims it is urgent. Shall I patch her through to the computer in the office?_

"Yeah, thanks."

"_You're very welcome, sir."_

The Stark-Potts duo rounded the desk to situate themselves in front of the large screen perched upon Pepper's desk. The previously blank screen crackled to life and a familiar crimson-haired woman's face graced the screen. It was swiftly evident that something was troubling the S.H.I.E.L.D agent, as her eyebrows were knotted together and her forehead was covered with sweat. Despite the seemingly intense situation, Tony began the conference with attempted humor.

"Well, if it isn't our favorite ginger assassin. What's up, Nat?"

The glare he received probably would have melted his face, had the meeting been in person. The tinny sound of her electronically processed voice dripped with venom.

"Not the time, Stark. It seems our little E.T. buddies have been sending more and more advance teams. My team just brought down a pack of them in Chernobyl, but there were even more than the last group. They were harvesting energy from the dead reactors."

Tony was really getting sick of aliens. First the Chitauri attack, and now these little buggers have been popping up all over the globe. All humor was lost from his voice as he responded.

"Any idea how many?"

The red-head shook her head, causing a "whiff"-ing sound to fill the microphone of her headset and come out of the computer speakers. "At least a hundred, if not more. We lost 6 today, before they retreated to God-Knows-Where. The attacks are getting closer and closer to populated areas, and more and more people are disappearing, Tony."

"Does S.H.I.E.L.D have any idea of their intentions?"

Another head shake. "Not a clue. Our scientists haven't been able to link any of their seemingly random attacks to any particular motive, and the people that have been disappearing have no connections outside of the coincidental."

Tony had begun rubbing his chin in thought, his thumb grazing the short black stubble the adorned his chin and made him look more like a homeless musician and less of a billionaire inventor. Despite that, Pepper couldn't help but admire Tony in this state, thinking seriously, attempting to solve situations with his spectacular mind. She knew that if anyone could come up with a solution to whatever was going on, it was Tony.

A muffled voice called out in Russian on Agent Romanoff's side of the communication, and the assassin barked back before turning back to the camera.

"We've got a treat today, Stark. Apparently, one of the little creeps was caught in a bear trap in the woods as they fled, and my men picked it up and brought here. Wanna see it?"

"Of course."

Without another word, Romanoff was lost from view as the camera spun to the entrance of what seemed to Tony to be a command tent. The deep green cloth background was sliced through by a shard of the outside world, light piercing through the opening. Several men stood to the sides of a kneeling figure in the opening. The figure was all too familiar to Tony: an incredibly human-male-like creature with pure white hair and incredibly dark skin. Its head was lowered towards the ground, so its face was not currently visible. A thick, black liquid could be seen dripping from its leg from where the trap had been removed. Pepper gasped. Natasha Romanoff's voice came through the speakers, though she was off-camera.

"We were planning on interrogating 'him' to see if he could give us any information."

"By all means."

Natasha's voice was sharp and commanding was she questioned the creature.

"What are you? Why are you here? What is you want from our planet?"

Silence.

Natasha's voice switched to Russian as she commanded one of her men. In response, the man drew his pistol, cocked it, and aimed at the alien's head. Suddenly, the creature looked up towards the camera (Tony assumed it was looking at Natasha), and Tony could see its eyes. Eyes that resembled galaxies, each a black void emblazoned with a stunning helix of glittering particles, stared upwards, an innocent, almost sad expression filling them. Its mouth opened, and a single raspy, choked word crawled out.

"Kree…" it whispered, before keeling over and laying flat on its stomach.

It was that moment when the ding of the elevator outside the office dinged, signaling a new arrival. Tony instinctively exited the program, and Pepper, though still shaken by what she had witnessed, walked out of the office to greet whoever had arrived. Tony could hear her voice as she said,

"Hi, I'm Ms. Potts. You must be Carol. Welcome to Stark Tower."


	3. Chapter 3: Go Time

**A/N:**** This is a rather speedy update, since football season is over and now I have time to write. Woot!**

**This chapter was written VERY late at night, so please forgive any horrid attempts at humor. **

**This chapter is what was happening with Carol in the elevator while Pepper and Tony were speaking upstairs, just so there's no confusion.**

**In this chapter, you will find: a creepy desk fetish, sloppy siblings, a hidden copy of _Men's Health,_ a reference to the Exorcist, and someone telling their genitalia to shut up.**

**Happy Reading!**

**Disclaimer: I own no characters in this story, just the adaptation of Carol.**

Carol Danvers was, despite her newly-calm visage, more nervous than she'd ever been. Even more than when Sergeant Reynolds had been snooping through her bunk and had been one sheet-flip away from discovering her copy of _Men's Health _(so she liked to look at the hunky models. Sue her.) back when she was still a cadet. She had nearly sweat straight through her fatigues at that moment, and yet now, in her navy blue suit, in an air-conditioned elevator, and meeting people she had no come into contact with, she was more terrified than that moment at the Air Force academy. She could barely comprehend why, but the combination of the gentle hum of the elevator making its way towards the building's peak and the gratingly cheerful music coming from the small black speakers in the corners of the elevator seemed to make Carol's heart clench and her knees threaten to knock.

Carol's hand had instinctually crept its way towards her mouth during her soggy and trembling thought process, which the intent of sticking her nails in her mouth to chew. It was a habit she had been trying to break for years since her childhood, but it had always had a knack for rearing its cuticle-annihilating head when she became too nervous or excited. Carol swiftly realized what she was doing and thrust her hand back down to her side, noticing the crimson stain of her lipstick was still lightly clinging to her finger under the guise of a rosy pink as she did so. Unwilling to stay idle, her hand began to wring each other from her sheer anxiety, thoroughly destroying the appearance of confidence she held only moments before. The clinging-on of her fear to the tiny facet of her brain was paying off as it chipped away at the foundations of her façade.

Just outside the elevator doors, Carol could hear the dull roar of men and women at work. It was a calming sound that filled her with some semblance of bravery. Her reasoning for this effect was that it was the primal fear that humans possess of facing danger alone, but regardless of the reason, the subtle sounds of movement and voices calmed Carol somewhat as the elevator continued to climb towards its destination: the 314th floor. Her new home-away-from-home. It was a thought that invigorated yet terrified her, an exploration of the unknown.

Carol's time in her stainless steel vertical transport felt akin to an eternity. This extended period of time was just the fertilizer her anxiety needed to begin to flourish and inevitably blossom into a scene depicting Carol curled in the fetal position and sobbing. But such was not the Carol-Danvers-way of doing things. She needed a distraction quickly, and discovered one in her daydreams of her new desk. Yes, she knew it was a rather odd and petty distraction, but it was an effective one. Her thoughts soon drifted to images of her desk: a large, deep reddish-brown wooden work of art, situated in front of a wall-sized window depicting the New York skyline. The desk was grand, enough to fit several Carols on, behind, and/or inside its majestic frame. Her nameplate sat on the forefront of the desk, singing praises to the proud owner of the maple masterpiece. Every object on the desk was in its place, neat and organized, with no one TOUCHING or otherwise SCREWING WITH HER STUFF. Carol was a very organized person by nature who had been forced to be surrounded by slobs since childhood who always had some strange obsession with moving her things away from where they needed to be. Carol sighed, the memories of her elder brothers and their sloppiness lazily wafting back into her mind, in a similar fashion to the way her brothers did almost everything.

After a moment or so of letting her mind wander, Carol noticed something was lacking from the small space: noise. The hum of the elevator, the irritatingly easy to listen to music, and the living noise of the movement of busy people had vanished in the brief moment (5 minutes in actuality, this was an uncannily long elevator ride) she had been dreaming about her glorious new desk. It was almost as if someone had pressed the "mute" button on Carol's world, and it made her feel incredibly small and assisted her anxiety in staging a coup de gras of her mind. Her hands had become raw from her constant subconscious wringing, but the pain did not stop her from increasing her hand-speed almost 10-fold. An intense feeling of chilly dread suddenly washed over Carol as she ascended in silence, causing her teeth to chatter against her will and goose-flesh to appear on her arms. Rather unprofessional.

The quivering to-be-assistant nearly soiled herself when the elevator doors suddenly shot open. She had been unaware of any stop. In the newly-forged opening stood an equally-startled and quite a bit sweatier man. His eyes were wide and his hands were raised in a defensive position, as if the woman he so obviously towered over was about to tackle him. After a moment or so of the man looking as though he was facing a professional wrestler twice his size instead of a young woman in a suit and the woman staring at the man with an expression akin to when someone witnesses the girl from the film _The Exorcist _suddenly appear during an online video, the sleek steel doors threatened to slide closed. The man, shocked back to reality by the sudden movement, thrust a large bandaged hand in front of the door to his left, halting it and its twin's movements. Carol's eyes flicked to the floor-number display: 281. She was going to be stuck in an elevator with a sweaty man who just nearly made her ruin her new suit. Fantastic.

He then proceeded to enter the elevator, a gust of wind accompanying him and wafting his rather unpleasant odor into Carol's nostrils. Carol's terrified expression drooped into one of mixed confusion and slight disgust upon registering the scent, and then simply directed her eyes forward and away from her new company. Her posture had subconsciously straightened since his arrival, and her fear had been momentarily scared out of her, ironically, with the presence of another acting as her shield against his icy grip.

The man to Carol's right raised his hand in a motion to press his destination button, but suddenly halted. She could almost smell the confusion radiating from him as he realized that his button had already been pushed. Or maybe that was just some incredibly intense body odor. Whatever the case, Carol barely suppressed a self-satisfied smirk at her little victory. Of course she understood that it was petty and juvenile to take pride in such a thing, but she had been told many times to enjoy the little things in life, and so far, she was enjoying this. Carol: 1, Mystery Stranger with a Bad Case of Stank-Ass: 0.

Carol noticed the stinky stranger fold his arms out of her periphery vision as the doors slid closed, trapping Carol and forcing her to marinate in the all-consuming smell. Thankfully, the silence that had once transformed Carol into a shivering mass remained, the man's presence bolstering her confidence and allowing the situation to become appropriately awkward. Carol understood how powerful an awkward silence could be and how effective in carrying messages, so she wielded its supreme power over the hapless man. Unfortunately for her, however, the man seemed unable to get the message, and, like a bonehead, began to speak.

"I apologize for the smell, ma'am. I wasn't expecting company today."

His voice was deep, yet youthful, like he couldn't be much older than a teenager. Regardless, Carol blinked a few times to allow the shattering of the peaceful awkward to fully be comprehended, and then sighed in a bored fashion and said,

"It's all right. Happens to the best of us." Her tone was clipped and sharp, threatening further confrontation if opposed. The man fell silent, and Carol figured he had taken the hint.

_Yes, _Carol thought, _that'll shut him down._

But it didn't.

"I assume you're new here, ma'am. I've never seen anyone use this elevator besides," he paused, "authorized personnel."

Now fully certain that the man was dense, Carol responded.

"What makes you think I'm unauthorized?"

While still not entirely looking at the man, the female in the situation noticed his incredibly expressive face contort into a sort of "kicked-puppy" expression.

_Boom, _Carol thought,_ Carol: 2 Mystery Stranger with Truly Tragic Case of Stank-Ass: 0. _

But he kept at it. He swallowed, a wet, hollow sound, and responded.

"I apologize for my phrasing, ma'am. Just didn't come I like I wanted. I just meant that I've only seen a very small handful of people use this lift, and it's kind of odd seeing someone new on it. Especially when they react like they've seen the Devil himself when catching sight of me."

Carol was caught off guard by the man's tone of sincerity, something that didn't happen often. She felt guilty for the way she had reacted to his presence, but her pride refused to allow her to react accordingly. Swallowing said pride, Carol softened her tone considerably and released the breath she hadn't been aware she'd been holding.

"It's fine, really. I shouldn't have been so snippy. It's my first day on the job, and I get a little nervous jumping in to new situations." Carol bit her tongue in a chastising manner. Here she was, bearing her soul to a complete stranger. She swiftly assigned blame to the aforementioned anxiety before continuing in a slightly more self-indulgent tone. "What's with the 'ma'am' stuff anyways? Are you the kind of guy who just likes to kiss ass left and right?"

His voice sounded slightly shocked.

"Um, n-no ma'am, I mean uh, no. Just the way I was raised. Mom and Dad taught me how to treat a lady right."

Carol snorted. This man amused her. He just seemed so… innocent and pure, all good intentions. Like someone straight out of the 60's. Or maybe it was the 40's. Whatever the case, she enjoyed his gentile mannerisms. They bugged her as well. Who did he think he was? Some kind of panty-dropping gentleman? She decided that it didn't matter, since she'd probably never see this man again. Carol finally turned to face her companion to introduce herself, extending a hand in his direction.

"I'm Carol Danvers, new executive assistant to the CEO of Stark Industries."

Her eyes were still out of focus from the turn (damned astigmatism) when she felt a large bandaged hand grip her own small, comparatively soft one.

"I know."

Carol's expression tightened into slight shock at the blur of a man before her.

"Name tag."

"Oh." Carol faltered and looked down at her little black name tag, blushing at her own stupidity. The man, however, did not miss a bit when introducing himself.

"Steve Rogers, ma'am."

And that was it. No occupation, no nothing. Carol reached up to her glasses to readjust them to allow her eyes to refocus. She was dry-mouthed at what she saw. The man before her had blonde, short-cropped hair that was still shiny with the last remnants of drying sweat. Check one for characteristics shared with the man in her creepy fantasies. After further examination, it was clear to Carol that the man was _jacked,_ like, it was insane. His shoulders were about as broad as 3.5 Carols side-by-side (In her mind, a Carol is the standard unit for size, weight, and carrying capacity). His sweat-soaked white undershirt left very little to the imagination, proudly displaying well-developed pectoral, abdominal, and just about every other kind of muscle. Check two for fantasy man. His smile was white and genuine, perfectly coinciding with the rest of his fantastically gorgeous face and blue eyes. Check three. This was the man from her hormonally-crazed dreams. It was creepy.

The handshake was short and firm, rather professional. Carol's gaze returned to the reflective steel in front of her, her face fading from its cordial smile to a rather odd expression of shock.

"_He's really cute, you know", _the voice of Carol's hormonal desires stated in a rather obvious fashion.

_Shut up, vagina! You don't know anything!_ Carol was not putting up with her hormones' shit today. It was a very important day for her, and she was not going to let someone like THAT ruin it for her. _Besides, _she internally continued, _I promised myself that I wouldn't get involved with anyone for a while. I have a career now. I can't have any distractions to get where I want to be in the business world._

"_Who said anything about 'involved'? It's just eye-candy. Lonely nights' material."_

Before Carol could even muster up a response, the steel doors slid open revealing a slight vision of glass and orange marble to appear in her vision. Once again, she had been completely unaware of the stop due to the fluidity of the elevator's movements. She hurriedly glanced down at the floor-number display: 314. Her floor. Her future. Carol's heart suddenly seized, a seizure of fear causing her breath to hitch in her throat and a shock to rattle through her body and straighten her spine. She attempted to sound nonchalant, but ended up sounding like a quivering schoolgirl going into the principal's office when she voiced her departure to her companion.

"W-well, this is my stop. It was nice meeting you, Steve Rogers."

Wait.

Steve Rogers.

_**Steve Rogers.**_

Where did that sound familiar?

TV?

Newspaper?

Creepy schoolgirl fantasies?

Wherever the familiarity lied, serious thought on the subject would have to wait until later. Carol, with shaking hands and borderline knocking knees, stooped to pick up her box to leave the elevator, when a youthful voice sounded, completely the ignoring the rhetorical connotations of the farewell.

"Really? Me too."

"_Fantastic. More time with Hunky McStankAss."_

As Carol's fingers had just began to fold underneath the rather cumbersome box, the voice was heard again.

"Here, let me get that for you."

Tow large hands appeared in Carol's vision, swooping down from behind her to heft up the box. Thick bandaged fingers gently attempted to remove Carol's from the box.

The words tumbled out before she could stop herself.

"No thanks."

The words were sharp and cold, obviously doing their job by the way the hands jerked back in surprise. Carol was not the kind of women who appreciated things being done for her. She went on a date? She paid her portion of the bill. She had schooling to pay for? She paid for it herself through the military. She had a heavy box that needed to get from point A to point B? She carried it herself. Perhaps it was part of her inborn personality. Perhaps it was the way she was raised. Whatever the case, she did not, under any circumstances, allow others to do for her things that she could easily do herself. It was nothing personal towards Steve. She happened to be somewhat amused by him, and in some cases slightly annoyed.

Carol's legs extended to lift the box and swiftly she whirled to face her companion. Her voice nearly faltered as she turned and viewed a painful expression of confusion and hurt etched across Steve Rogers' face, his hands still outstretched. He continued.

"I can get it myself."

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to-"

"Save it. You're forgiven." And just like that she stepped out of the elevator, brimming with pride.

It was a beautiful building, but Carol barely had time to register the sights before a rather lovely woman with red hair and a dark business suit came striding towards Carol and the dejected-looking Steve. Her smile radiated towards Carol, and she soon was swept up in its glow and returned the smile. The woman spoke,

"Hi, I'm Ms. Potts. You must be Carol. Welcome to Stark Tower."

Carol's visage became a fierce grin as she nodded sharply.

"_Go time."_


	4. Chapter 4: You Know Where To Find ME

**A/N: It's time for "Marvelous" part 3! (Queue confetti).**

**Ahem.**

**This chapter is once again from Carol's perspective, and I must say it's not my best. I'm sorry for any absurd attempts at humor, but my beta has been out of town and has had no access to a computer for the past few days.**

**Remember, reviews are the greatest gift a writer can give another writer. Please review, and I'll try to get back to you as quickly as I can.**

**A special shoutout to _Proponent of Evo, Knead Me_, and _I am Mayhem_ for reviewing every chapter and just being amazing.**

**And _Knead Me_: Steve will be playing a much bigger role in the next chapter, so yeah.**

**In this chapter, you will find: a rather cumbersome box, a very small personal hell, a coquettish ex-CEO, and the panties of the world's strictest nun hitting the ground with rather destructive force.**

**Also, I have a new poll related to "Marvelous" and further Marvel Comicverse-to-Movieverse adaptations, so please check it out!**

**Have fun reading!**

**Disclaimer: I own no characters in this story, just the adaptation of Carol.**

"So, do you have any questions before we begin?"

Carol blinked a few times at the phrase before realizing that she had gone completely blank during Ms. Potts's little presentation. She remembered only the suited woman before her smiling and her lips moving, but Carol had slipped into a trance-like state without even realizing it. Her mind had been light-years away, pondering each of the various items that were going to affect her day in some way.

Her boss: _I wonder if Mr. Stark is going to hit on me. Ew._

Ms. Potts: _Who exactly is this woman I'm talking to? His secretary, maybe?_

Her morning: _Did I lock my front door this morning?_

_Yes._

Her 5 senses: _Wait what-what is that smell?_

_Oh yeah, Steve Rogers is still here._

_**Why** is he still here?_

_I shouldn't have worn this pair of underwear today. It's really giving me a wedg-_

"Ah…Carol?"

Carol blinked once again before realizing that this was indeed reality she was experiencing. The memories of the still-in-progress morning then flooded back to her, minus anything her apparent co-worker had just said. Her next single-word sentence lurched out of her as she finally got a grip.

"No."

Ms. Potts's amiable grin faltered slightly at Carol's obviously flustered state, but only for a moment. The red-head then nodded, satisfied, turned her shoulders around, and beckoned with a finger.

"Well, if you've heard everything you need, please follow me. I'll give you a little tour."

But Carol remained stock-still, a smile plastered on her face and her box frozen in her aching arms, further confusing her companion. For some reason, Carol found she could not move, regardless of her attempts to. She seemed rooted to the floor for a few moments until she was granted control of her frozen limbs by the distraction of the smell emanating from behind her, and its still-here host, moving. Carol's head unwittingly swiveled towards the smell and instantly regretted it. She had never beheld such a tragic facial expression before now. Steve Rogers's damnably expressive face displayed a look that combined crestfallenness, embarrassment, and forced cheerfulness. His brow was bent, his eyes her partially downcast, and his lips her pulled up slightly into a pitiful attempt at a soggy smile. Basically, the look was one that could melt a heart of stone and drop the panties of the strictest nun so hard and so fast that there would be a small crater in the floor. Recognizing the need for swift escape before she did or said anything stupid, Carol's strides were long and frequent as she hustled after her tour guide, the contents of her box jangling as she moved. She sighed, thankful that Steve Rogers had gone another direction, taking his utter gorgeousness with him.

When she finally caught up with the surprisingly speedy Ms. Potts, Carol allowed her eyes to absorb the visual of the interior of the upper floors of Stark Tower from behind her box. This portion of the building was reserved for the living quarters of Anthony Stark himself, and as a reflection of the eccentric yet brilliant and modern-minded man, the rooms and corridors were constructed with not only elegance, but also functionality in mind. The black, red, and chrome décor was quite oxymoronically subtle yet ostentatious, drawing all attention to the odd architecture of the walls, floors, and even the ceiling. The sleek black marble floors sloped fluidly with the changing furnishings and sizes of rooms, dipping in the larger ones and rising in the smaller ones. Carol was forced to take care not to trip. Even though the clacking of two pairs of shoes, the soft jingling of office equipment scraping across metal and cardboard, and the cheerful voice of Ms. Potts echoed slightly off of the walls, Carol could hear none of them, as her mind was too focused on staying upright and seeing as much as she could.

As the two entered a larger vast room, Carol's breath caught for a moment as she viewed the rather grand space. It appeared to be a kind of living room, with an enormous flat-screen TV (the largest Carol had seen outside of a sports arena), several sleek yet posh white-and-black couches, two beautifully crafted glass staircases leading up and down, and ,rather oddly, a fully-stocked bar along the back wall that Carol would need to fully "investigate" later on. But what really made Carol gasp was the window that made up the entire eastern wall. The view was fantastic. A viewer could see almost the entire city, including Wall Street, Central Park, and even the East River. Buildings stood proudly and competitively side-by-side, glinting in the morning's soft orange light. THIS was the view Carol wanted from her desk.

Unfortunately, this will most definitely not be the case, but Carol will learn that later on.

For the first time that day, Ms. Potts had Carol's full attention as she spoke.

"This is where most of Mr. Stark's and my day happens. Especially Mr. Stark."

Carol couldn't quite understand why Ms. Potts had a tone of playful exasperation, especially towards her boss, but further investigation would have to wait until later. Ms. Potts continued.

"It's where you'll more than likely find either of us at any given point of the day, provided we're even in the building."

Carol began to speak for the first time in quite a while a slight strain in her voice from the box weighing down on her..

"Pardon my asking, Ms. Potts, but why do you keep referring to yourself and," she swallowed slightly, "Mr. Stark as a collective group? I mean, are you together often enough for that to be appropriate?" Carol bit her tongue at the utterly disrespectful tone she had unwittingly adopted towards this woman. However, Ms. Potts smiled slightly as she answered in a light-hearted tone.

"Well, Mr. Stark and I do spend quite a bit of time together, given that we're engaged to be married." Ms. Potts smiled bemusedly at the embarrassed and slightly-shocked look on her junior's face. "And please, I'd prefer it if you called me Pepper, since we'll be working pretty closely. I wouldn't want there to be any unnecessary distance between us."

Although mildly embarrassed by her lack of knowledge on the world of Anthony Stark and slightly caught off guard by her co-worker's sudden burst of informality, Carol nodded her assent as they walked on. In an attempt to shake off the obvious facial contortion she possessed, Carol allowed her mind to wander towards her future employer. Obviously, she had not done her research on the subject adequately enough. She was only vaguely aware of his appearance, possessed only minimal knowledge on what this company even did after the arc-reactor fiasco she read about a few years ago, and was hazily aware of Mr. Stark's uncanny drinking and bedding abilities. The unknown had always scared Carol. She had constantly made it a point in the past to fully understand any situation she was going to be placed in before hand, so she would spend weeks or even months investigating. Unfortunately, Carol's life had been busy: graduation, retirement from the Air Force, dealing with her father AGAIN, and her brother's deployment to Syria had taken up the majority of the 8 months since she had first heard of the job and did not give her the adequate time or cranial storage capacity for pre-emptive research.

Now, she realized her sad mistake.

Covered in a new layer of rapidly-cooling sweat, Carol followed her guide down a new corridor. This hallway seemed curiously darker than the previous few the pair had been through previously. Carol's nervousness steadily increased as she ventured further into the dark hallway. At the end of the rather long hallway, Carol noticed a small wooden door. The door itself seemed to radiate the soft orange light coming from a small plug-in light source near it, giving the small area before the door a feeling of warmth.

_Why is she trying to show me the janitor's closet?_ Carl pondered as the door grew nearer. Pepper chuckled slightly.

"Ah, memories. I remember coming here on my first day on the job SO many years ago. I thought it was the janitor's closet."

_Wait. If it's not the janitor's closet, then what is-._

_No._

The door grew closer.

_Please. No._

Closer.

_Please God, NO._

Pepper's hand enveloped the small gold-imitation doorknob. Her portal to hell.

_NO!_

The door squeaked gently with age as it opened, displaying the quaint little room of torture and eternal damnation (for Carol at least). There was a small room, approximately 100 feet in total area. A gust of warm air blew out to meet the pair, gently brushing her face with its scratchy and heated touch. The floor was covered in a coffee brown shag carpet that tickled the exposed areas of Carol's feet. The aging walls were adorned with a burgundy paint, adding to the warm aesthetic of the room. A single light fixture roosted proudly on the ceiling as it melted its orange light upon the area. The room could be described simply as "quaint".

It sucked. It sucked royal ass.

But the worst part by far would have to be the desk.

The poor, God-forsaken, pathetic excuse for a desk. Carol felt the urge to sob at the sight.

_God, what have I done to deserve this?_

Only one Carol could fit behind this desk. Only half-a-Carol could fit comfortably. The desk seemed to be trapped into an eternal sigh of age, slightly sagging in the middle and giving extra weight to the ready-to-collapse legs. The surface of its sandy brown top would only hold maybe half of the contents of Carol's rather cumbersome box. In short, it was the polar opposite of everything Carol had imagined.

_Fantastic. Fan-freaking-tastic._

"So, what do you think of your new office?"

Carol was caught off guard by the utter peppiness of Pepper's voice. How could she expect anyone to like this hellhole, much less Carol Danvers, the girl who had day dreams about desks as frequently as she did about men? However, Carol was smart enough to know that yelling "I f***king hate it!" and then smashing through the wall and flying off into the sunset would not be the smartest point of action because: a) she would lose this supposed gem of a job, b) she could not smash through walls or fly as far a she knew, and c) it wouldn't be sunset until 11 hours from now.

Such is the typical thought process of Carol Danvers.

Carol swallowed the stream of expletives that had threatened to come out of her mouth and said,

"It's lovely; so…homey and…quaint."

Apparently satisfied, Pepper strode over to the far right wall.

"Excellent. And this," she gestured with her hand towards a door identical to the previous one they had entered through, "leads directly into the CEO's office, so whenever you have any questions, I'm just a knob-turn away."

Carol nodded shakily and gave a weak smile before Pepper continued.

"I'll get in touch with you if you're needed at all before you're ready. Take some time to set up your things before we begin."

Carol nodded again. "Well, you know where to find me."

Pepper began to face the door, but swiftly about-faced to her original position towards Carol.

"I'm sorry about not being as prepared as I usually am. No offense, but you did show up almost an hour early."

Carol responded, "Being punctual is just part of who I am, I guess. My parents always said, 'Early is on-time and on-time is late'."

Pepper smiled and arched an eyebrow. "My kind of girl."

Pepper smiled a final time before turning and opening the door. Carol turned to offer a pathetic smile for her departure. Suddenly, Carol received a glimpse of the fabled Tony Stark sitting at a large computer. Oddly enough, he seemed to be dressed in his pajamas, and also appeared to have not shaved for quite a while. The dark-haired man turned towards the new noise and locked eyes with the gasping assistant. Just before the CEO office, any natural light, and Pepper vanished from view behind the door, he smiled and threw Carol a flirtatious wink.

Carol was then trapped in her dark and stuffy personal hell.

Carol then allowed herself 2 minutes to flip the bird to the entire office, the desk, and the universe in general.

Then, she began to set up her things in a very professional manner.

Such was the Carol Danvers way.


	5. Chapter 5: Capper Capricious Capulet

**A/N:**** This is kind of a short chapter, so be warned. **

**_Knead Me:_ Here is more Stevie Spangles. You're welcome.  
**

**In this chapter you will find: A rather clingy desk, visions of sugar plums, moth balls, a sultry smirk, a mysterious favor, and someone screwing the universe itself.**

**Also, there's a new poll about Marvelous and a possible sequel posted on my profile page, so please check it out!**

**Remember, reviews are the best gift a writer can give another writer. So please review! Concrit, praise, flames, I take it all.**

**And to the random PM-er _Run Into The Light,_ yes I am a boy, no I am not gay, and thank you. I've been told I write young women well before.**

**Note: I own no characters in this story.**

Carol had spent the last hour laying her head on her desk on the verge of sobbing. She had prayed that this little slice of hell of an office had been some kind of test that all the new employees had to go through, but the office-prank cut-off time period had elapsed eons ago. She was trapped here, in a room smelling of moth balls with her head on a desk that looked like it had come out of her dream desk's ass. At first, she couldn't believe that a job like this (or at least the way the advertisement and Carol's fantasies had made it seem) hadn't been snapped up in the 8 moths before Carol could begin work.

Now she knew why.

This room was making her crazy. A moment before, she had seriously considered taking a dump on her "new" desk to show her displeasure. She had thought she had gotten electrically shocked or something, only to realize that her intense and abrupt muscle spasm had thoroughly made her look and feel like a complete a total spaz. Visions of sugar plums had danced in her head.

_Wait. What the hell is a sugar plum?_

Carol knew she had to get out of this little box of crazy. Screw Ms. Potts. If she needed Carol, she could call for her over the intercom. Carol smiled. She was such a rebel. Before she gave herself time to change her mind, Carol hurriedly peeled her face from the clingy wooden abomination, sat up from her chair, and bustled over to the door. As she hustled down the dark corridor and back into the natural light provided by the insanely large windows, Carol began to feel much more at ease with her new situation. Sure, her office was hotter than the devil's crotch and she had already made two bad impressions today, but she at least had a job, which was more than could be said for many people in NYC. It was also turning out to be a beautiful day. Maybe she could go for a run later?

Just as Carol entered the main room she so very much envied the view from, she nearly soiled her suit for a second time that day. She was rather startled by a rather electronic and rather British voice emanating from somewhere in the building near her.

"_Good day, ma'am, and welcome to Stark Tower. I am called JARVIS, and I apologize profusely for not being able to greet you personally when you first arrived, but Master Stark had me perform an errand that consumed much of my energy."_

Halfway cowering, Carol's eyes flitted around the room in a desperate attempt to discover who said that and how they learned to throw their voices so well. After her visual search was deemed fruitless, Carol tried a different mode of discovery: asking.

"Um…h-hello. Uh…where are you?" Carol barely squeaked out her question. Rather unprofessional.

The voice responded immediately.

"_I apologize for startling you, madam. I am Master Tony Stark personal artificially intelligent assistant. I am currently speaking to you through the many speakers mounted along the walls, ceilings, and floors of the upper levels of Stark Tower."_

_Ok, _Carol thought, _a talking house. I can live with that. What I can't live with is competition, even if it is from a disembodied voice in the walls._

"Ok then. I'm Carol Danvers, Tony Stark's personal, um, organically intelligent assistant. It's my first day on the job, so I'll be around pretty often."

Carol felt incredibly foolish speaking to the walls, but JARVIS did not seem to notice as he responded.

"_Well then, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Mistress Danvers. If you ever have need of me, simply call my name."_

After the voice seemed to be done speaking, Carol allowed a smirk to appear on her face.

_Mistress Danvers. I could get used to that._

Carol continued down the hallways on her power-walk/exploration expedition until a sudden thought stopped her dead in her tracks. What is she ran into that Steve Rogers guy again? She groaned at the thought of that man. How could a human being so beautiful and such a gentleman and yet such a **bonehead**? How could God even craft a creature so sexy that He didn't just keep it for himself? Carol's thoughts carried on until she ran into something rather hard. Or rather someone. The exact person she had just told herself **NOT **to run into.

_Screw you, universe._

Steve Rogers was no longer a sweaty mess, which Carol had to admit was a bittersweet exchange. He seemed to be dressed up in his Sunday best: a blue striped polo shirt, khakis, loafers, and a kick-ass comb-over that all other people would look like dweebs if they had it. His stunned visage became one of tentative cheerfulness as he began to speak.

"Afternoon, Carol. It's okay if I call you Carol, right?" He was always so damnably earnest.

_No you can call me Mistress Danvers. Oh yeah._

"Carol's fine." Her voice was curt yet not as much frustrated as before ad it was exasperated. First, she had to even work on the same floor as this man, and now she was just going to merely take a walk and ricochet off of him like a pinball wherever she went.

_Screw you, universe. Again._

Steve Roger's laugh was awkward and shy as he spoke.

"So, um, what have you been up to today?"

_Groveling at my desk and hating life._

"Oh, just getting ready for the work day." She paused, begging the universe to make sure that he did not have that expression that demands that you ask the same question. He did. "You?"

"Oh, um, I went to the gym for a while to stretch out my old sorry self," he chuckled (at his own joke), "met you, and then took a shower. But you already knew all of that." Carol couldn't understand why a person as big and SEXY as he was would be acting so nervous around people. He must have had women flinging themselves out of windows and onto him when he walked by their building. He cleared his throat, and avoided I contact.

"So, um, Carol?"

"Yes. That's me."

"I-I know. I was wondering if, you'd, maybe sometime, would want to, kind of maybe, um…"

Carol knew exactly where this was going, and she knew her answer.

_YES! YESYESYESYES! OH SWEET GOD ABOVE, YES!_

"I'm flattered, I really am, but I'm sorry, the answer's going to have to be no right now."

Steve Roger's face was so hurt, confused, and ashamed that Carol almost reconsidered her answer. Almost.

"O-oh. I understand. New job and all must be pretty demanding, I guess. I, um, uh…"

"Hey, Cap! What's shakin', old man?"

A new voice had entered the awkward encounter. Carol turned and immediately wished she hadn't. The new person had dark hair, skin, and eyes, was dressed in flannel sleeping bottoms, and a KISS t-shirt. He walked a swagger that was something akin to a cross between a cocky strut and a hung-over shuffle. He smiled boldly, and walked right up to the conversing paper.

That's right, people.

It was none other than…

The man, the myth, the legend himself…

Tony Stark. Genius, Billionaire, Playboy Philanthropist.

Carol swallowed hard and turned away from her employer while becoming stock still, apparently possessing the mentality that states that "if I don't make any sudden movements, then maybe he won't see me".

It didn't work. Stark sauntered up to the pair and placed a large hand on Carol's shoulder before spinning her around and almost making her fall flat on her face, which would have been very unprofessional. He smiled jovially before speaking.

"Hey, you must be Pepper's new assistant. Carol, right?" Carol nodded but then stopped.

"Wait, aren't I your assistant, since you're," she gesticulated to the building, "CEO of Stark Industries and all?"

Stark snorted. "Me? CEO? Hell no! Haven't been for a while. Where have you been, living under a rock?"

Carol's face sunk. Apparently she had been living under a rock. Her utter lack of knowledge had now reached laughable proportions. Thankfully, and right in character, Tony began to speak once again.

"Hey Cap, we're needed in the War Room like, now. Natasha says she has a favor to ask of us."

Steve Rogers said nothing as he turned and began to stride away rather briskly.

Stark made a face before speaking AGAIN. "Yeesh, who spit in his Wheaties this morning?" He turned to face Carol and threw on a sultry smirk. "Catch ya later, blondie."

He too then scuttled down the hallway and out of site.

Carol payed neither of them any notice, as her mind was elsewhere.

_Cap?_

_Capper?_

_Cap…cap…Capsule?_

_Cap…ricious?_

_Cap…Capulet?_

_Cap…cap…_

_Captain…_

_Captain!_

_Let's see…_

_Captain._

_Captain Steve._

_Captain Stevio._

_Captain Steven._

_Captain Rogers._

_Captain Steve Rogers._

_Captain Steve Rogers…Captain Steve Rogers…Captain Steve Rogers…_

_Captain…_

_Captain Amer…_

_Captain America._

Carol's face sunk. It all made sense now: the mannerisms, the sexiness, the living-in-Stark-Tower thing, the "Cap" thing, the working out.

Words could not describe how stupid Carol felt at this moment.

She just stood in place for a moment or two, until the only phrase that seemed appropriate came to mind.

"Aw, _sheyt."_


	6. Chapter 6: Mar-Vell-ous

**A/N: Two chapters! In one night! Wah!  
**

**Ahem.**

**This chapter is a lot more serious and has a lot of foreshadowing, so don't really be only the look out for humor very often.**

**If anyone knows who this character is in the comics, please PM me and you will receive all my love and a cookie.**

**Also, there's a new poll about Marvelous and a possible sequel posted on my profile page, so please check it out!**

**Remember, reviews are the best gift a writer can give another writer. So please review! Concrit, praise, flames, I take it all.**

**Note: I own no characters in this story.**

**Happy Reading!**_  
_

_Thum-thump._

_Thum-thump._

_Thum-thump._

His eyes were gently prodded open by the sound of his slowly beating heart. A blurry image was all that could be currently processed in his current state, and his eyes closed again as a wave of exhaustion and nausea washed over him. As consciousness crept its way back into his body, he began to feel a steady drumbeat of pain thumping in his left leg, but it was currently of little significance, given the fact that he had no idea where he was and how he got there anywhere swimming in the syrupy corridors of his hazy mind.

The male cracked his eyes opened again as more and more awareness was gifted to him. The first thing he noticed about his new environment was the cold. It was absolutely frigid, probably only 46.7 degrees Celsius at maximum according to his pre-emptive calculations. The pain in his leg only increased as the freezing air sank its needles into the area where the pain was radiating from.

Second, he noticed that the room was made of glass, slick, reflective glass that he was currently laying face-down upon. He attempted to will himself to move, but the slippery surface of his prison hindered any form of movement that would allow him to regain his bearings. That coupled with the increasing pain in his leg rendered him completely immobile and helpless. He gnashed his teeth in frustration. A man of his position should never be _helpless,_ at the mercy of another.

Third, and most embarrassingly, he noticed that he was completely unclothed, which explained the rather uncomfortable draft. He could feel his face flare with embarrassment, but counted himself lucky that he was lying face down. His frustration increased with the utter attack on his dignity. He lifted his head stiffly in order to see if he was at all adorned, but realized that the rest of his body refused to cooperate, leaving him to simply strain his neck to attempt to see what damage had been done to his pride. When his efforts proved fruitless, he gave a heavy sigh and placed his chin on the ground in defeat as well as in an attempt to relieve some of the stiffness in his neck. He glanced up at the wall of his glass prison and noticed a pair of staring back at him from the other side. Angry, hateful eyes.

The male yelped with surprise, a sound that combined a hiss and a bark, before attempting once again to move himself, but to no avail. The searing pain in his leg caused his eyes to squeeze shut and his throat to hiss at the burning sensation. He was forced back down onto to his stomach with a _thud,_ his arms splayed out after his pointless effort to catch himself. He glanced up fearfully at the Terran male before him, who laughed maliciously at his blunder and, the male presumed, his utterly naked state.

Rather undignified.

The Terran male lazily turned away after a moment and sauntered towards an opening in the large green room they seemed to be in. After the Terran had exited the strange green enclosure, the caged male took his opportunity to survey his immediate surrounding more fully. The green space he seemed to be trapped in fluttered from time to time, occasionally allowing beams of natural light to penetrate the dark stuffy atmosphere. He concluded that it was not a permanent structure, most likely formed by pillars and a large piece of cloth. There were several monitors and machines along one "wall", each an indecipherable string of symbols and flashing lights. He turned his head to either side, and concluded that he was completely imprisoned in the glass cage.

_Damn it._

He then began to desperately search for some sort of crack or opening in the glass, and while doing so, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in an area of the wall that refracted the light just so.

It was atrocious.

His pure white hair was caked with dirt and blood and stuck out in all directions. There were red markings all over his body, cuts and scrapes covering his arms, legs, and bare torso. Oddly enough, there was a large white strip of gauze wrapped around the area where the pain in his leg seemed to be coming from. The sticky white tape contrasted greatly with the dark chocolate color of his skin. He pondered for a moment,

_What did I do to myself to need this?_

He prodded it gently with a finger, only to have the searing pain return. He gritted his teeth and growled before turning back to his reflective doppelganger. As he had originally believed and prayed was untrue, he was completely and totally naked. A sudden wave of shame washed over him and, despite the pain, he pulled his knees to his chest, determined to save as much of his dignity as he could, even if no one was there. He rested his head against his knees to think, his long, thin, pointed ears drooping and hanging down past his chin.

Suddenly, two voices could be heard, speaking in a tongue that sounded, ironically, completely alien to him. His ears perked forwards and twisted towards the sound, and he could clearly decipher that they were the voices of a Terran male and female pair. The male was approximately 34 sun-paths of age, stood at about 6'3" tall and was rather heavy at 231 pounds, had a deep gravelly voice that indicated an air of inherent badassery, and yet was intimidated by the woman he was speaking with, who the male concluded was the Terran male's superior. The woman was more difficult to read, as her voice was youthful, but it was obvious that she was far older than the male she walked with, at least in the count of sun-paths. He estimated she was about 5'6" and 121 pounds, judging by the light sound of her foot falls and the angle at which her voice reached his ears. Her voice carried a cold authority that sent shivers up and down his spine, despite being completely ignorant as to what she was saying. These Terrans meant business, he concluded, and it was not going to be fun.

….

Natasha Romanoff was supervising the collection of bodies both friendly and hostile when a voice called out to her. It was Olav, the man she had assigned to watch the "Kree" or whatever the hell it was. She heard his foot steps swagger up behind her and inquired of him, without turning her back,

"What is it now, Olav? Did the thing shit itself in it sleep again?"

Russian is known for being a rather cold and angry language when spoken by anyone correctly, but when the language came from the lips of the feared Black Widow, the words themselves could freeze a person over more quickly and completely than the Russian winter itself. Olav responded, and Romanoff smiled in an almost proud way that he had learned his lesson after _last time_ and respected her personal space. She was pretty sure he would hold those scars for a while. Good.

"No ma'am. It's awake, and I'm pretty sure "it" is a "he" judging by its, ahem, anatomy I viewed after it tried to get up." She could here the smile in his voice as he spoke. He was pathetic.

Natasha kept her back turned while swiftly swiping a loose string of red hair behind an ear as se responded.

"Olav, keep your sexual preferences and fantasies out of this mission. Now, quit standing there like an idiot and let's go see if "he" has any new information after his little nap."

Natasha abruptly about-faced and strode purposefully towards the tent where he prisoner had lie for the past 7 hours completely unconscious. She ignored Loaf's stuttering and blushing response as the two scrunched their way through the thin layer of snow towards the captive's quarters. Natasha should have felt hatred towards this creature. "He" had killed several of her finest men, one of which she could actually tolerate. But all the red-head felt was the cold indifference that usually characterized her mind during missions. Besides, the creature was of more use alive than dead, so she had let the little bugger live. For now.

As Agent Romanoff and her still-blushing companion neared the tent, she heard a small sound, like the whimpering of a dog. The sound grew louder as she closed in on the tent, so she assumed it was from the alien. As soon as she was close enough, Natasha's arm shot out and threw the opening flap aside to reveal a glass case containing a dark brown humanoid figure sitting with its knees pulled up to its chest. Its head snapped up to meet her arrival, a look of pain and surprise on its face as it shielded its eyes from the searing light of the afternoon sun. The flap closed, and Natasha was alone with the creature, with Olav standing guard outside.

Natasha folded her arms and kept her facial expression neutral as she met the defiant yet somewhat fearful gaze of the alien before her. She arched an eyebrow ever so slightly as it looked down and hugged its knees tighter to its chest, refusing to meet her gaze. Natasha was slightly confused for a moment until she realized something: the little monster was trying to be modest. After pulling together the information from the bashful brown creature and Olav's previous "anatomical analysis", she responded by reaching into the satchel around her shoulders and pulled out her extra thermal pants, specifically designed to protect the user from the harsh Russian winters that were a factor in more than half of her missions as of late. She pressed a series of numbers on a keypad on the frame of the glass wall in front of her, and a small opening in the glass was created. She then tossed the still-warm pants through the opening before it shut with a rather abrupt "_shing"._ The creature stared at the warm clothing for a moment before cautiously reaching towards it and taking the pants, all the while being careful not to unfurl its legs.

Then the creature did something unexpected (well, at least less expected) by gesturing for Natasha to turn around as he dressed. Natasha smiled in a coldly bemused way before stating,

"It's nothing I haven't seen before."

The creature stared blankly at her face, apparently uncomprehending. Natasha shook her head and raised her hands as she proceeded to turn.

"Fine. Have it your way."

The creature made an odd growling noise, which Natasha concluded was a grunt of appreciation, and then began to change. After a moment or so of soft rustling and an occasional frustrated hiss, there was a light tap on the glass to signify that the deed was done. Natasha took that as her queue and turned around. She was surprised at what she saw. The creature stood tall at about 6'9" feet tall, even though it was propped against the glass wall of the cell due to its injury. It was surprisingly well-built, something that didn't bug Natasha all that much, and its thankful smile displayed incredibly pointed canines. It, or "he" she assumed, was oddly handsome, in a creepy extraterrestrial enemy kind of way. It was then that the Black Widow decided it was time to figure out what her prisoner knew about whatever the hell was going on.

…

The Kree male was stunned at how well these supposedly barbaric Terrans kept their prisoners. Nothing like the Shi'ar, the mortal enemies of the Kree. He shivered at the mere thought. But now he was warm(er), somewhat clothed, and had all the while kept a shred of his dignity. The female before him remained static in facial expression and movement, which caused him to allow his grin of gratitude to falter back into a look of determination. The female then began to speak, but the sounds she made were like those of a dying Spargon, and those little mutts died creepily and annoyingly. He literally had know idea what the female was saying, as he had only been told that, if captured, he should simply say "Kree", to signify that the strongest military in the known universe would avenge them. He had done so just before he had passed out of consciousness, and he had assumed that the Terrans, as dull as they are, would get the messages

They didn't.

The male attempted to focus as attentively as he could on the words of the female, hoping that he would be able to comprehend something. Nothing. It was all garble. He growled sharply and deeply in frustration, triggering a slight gasp from the Terran. Just then, the other Terran he had heard, the male, stumbled into the tent, brandishing the one language that all races of sentient creatures could understand fluently.

The language of guns.

The language of "I'm going to shoot you in the face repeatedly if you don't do what I say".

The Kree lurched backwards to defend himself, ignoring the fresh flash of pain in this leg. He growled deep in his throat subconsciously, as was the way his people responded to threats. The idiot male had the barrel of his rifle trained on him as he conversed in his gibberish with the obviously annoyed female. It was rather undignified to have a gun trained on you at any time for anyone, especially when you were someone of his status in his current state as a simple prisoner.

He would not stand for it.

While both Terrans were distracted, the alien flung himself against the glass directly in front of them with as much force as his nearly-crippled body would allow. It was enough to get there attention. He growled as menacingly as he could and balled his fists against the glass as he began to scream at the dimwitted creatures that had wounded both his body and his pride.

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, TRAPPING ME LIKE SOME KIND OF ANIMAL?!"

He slammed his fists against the glass as hard as he could, causing the Terrans to step back in surprise.

"I AM NOT A FORCE TO BE TRIFLED WITH!"

Another slam. Another step back. A new sound, like the crinkling of aluminum foil.

"I AM NO MERE KREE WARRIOR!"

Slam. Step. A louder crinkle.

"I AM **CAPTAIN MAR-VELL** OF THE SUPREME KREE TRANSGALACTIC FLEET!"

Slam. Step. An even louder crinkle. His hands had begun to bleed. The Kree captain unleashed a feral roar of rage as he began to pound mercilessly on the weakening glass.

"**AND I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS TREATMENT!"**

With a final roar and a final swing of his fists, the glass shattered completely, and Mar-Vell flung himself at foolish Terrans bearing his fangs and allowing his tongue to loll slightly. They would pay for what they had done to him and his men.

Suddenly there was an electrical buzz.

Then a bright light.

Then pain.

Then nothing.

…

Natasha quickly sheathed her electrical gauntlets, code-named the "Widow's Bite", and knelt by Olav's side after she was sure the creature was immobilized. All that had to happen was that imbecile Olav had to rush in with that blasted gun, and her somewhat calm questioning session had transformed into a situation with a crazy alien spouting of Cthullu-speak and shattering glass.

Olav had been knocked back by the creature's initial impact, but seemed fine after a quick check-up. Natasha remained kneeling as her eyes traveled from Olav's shaken frame, to the currently comatose alien, to the utterly shattered glass. She came to one simple conclusion.

"That thing has got to go."


	7. Chapter 7: Not A Bad First Day

**A/N:**** Three chapters? In one week? What sorcery in this?**

**This is the longest chapter I have written by far. It is written from multiple perspectives.**

**In this chapter, you will find: two tiny black death traps, two jealous spiders, an immature inventor flopping like a fish, a Tumblr distraction, a reference to a pretty freaky movie, two incredible Comicverse character allusions and a rather idiotic god of thunder.**

**Remember, reviews are the greatest a writer can give another writer. Did you see something you liked? Didi you see something you didn't like? Please review and let me know!**

**Also, I have a new poll on my profile page about Marvelous and other Marvel Comicverse-to-Movieverse adaptations, so please stop by and make your voice heard.**

**Lastly, if you're like me, you like to listen to music when you read fanfiction. In reaction, I am building the "Marvelous Soundtrack" with songs of all kinds that someone could listen to while reading this story in order to fully immerse themselves into the story. If you have an idea, please place it into a review or a PM and send it to me! It would really mean a lot!**

**Note: I own no characters in the story.**

**Happy Reading!**

"Do I HAVE to?!"

Tony Stark whined as he flopped his upper half onto to the large glass table in the center of the War Room, completely ignoring the multitude of large leather chairs that were specifically placed and designed to accommodate a flop such as this one. His younger companion simply rolled his eyes and sat down with arms crossed, having become much too familiar with the utter immaturity of Tony Stark over the six months. When no response was heard, the grown billionaire made an odd groaning noise and turned over onto his back to stare at the source of his discomfort.

At first glance, the War Room itself could be mistaken for nothing more than a glorified meeting room in a secretive location with incredibly Tony-proof chairs. In actuality, the War Room was one of the most high-tech locations in the entirety of New York City, excluding the Stark workshop located a floor up. The walls themselves were composed of photonic illusion projectors, which were thousands of tiny light bulbs that could create a seemingly three-dimensional image of an area in question with such accuracy that merely seeing the two compared would not allow the viewer to tell the difference. These amazing little bulbs were also located within the table as well for when specific objects were needed for a scale viewing. In this specific instance, only the table was being utilized in order to depict the image of a fit-looking young woman dressed rather heavily. Despite the blue-green color palette of the hologram, the woman could be easily identified as the crimson-headed Natasha Romanoff, professionally known as the Black Widow.

Natasha scoffed in a bored fashion at the childish outburst before responding in a monotone voice.

"Well, I'm not really seeing a better option here. This thing is particularly powerful within its kind, which is already saying something. My men and I have already dealt with one almost-successful escape attempt on its part, and without the element of surprise we had before, I highly doubt we'd be able to stop it again. Also, I think we'd all like to figure out what this thing is, and you said yourself that the tower has the most sophisticated laboratory on the planet inside, so-"

In a very "Tony" fashion, Stark interrupted.

"No! The answer is no. Apparently, you didn't do enough thinking. What about the helicarrier? I mean, the thing will be surrounded by the best-trained soldiers in the world 24/7, and the thing even has a friggin' cage inside that was built just for this exact circumstance! I mean, come on!"

Tony had flipped himself over again onto his stomach to glare holes through the holographic Natasha, but she paid him absolutely no heed before she rebutted.

"I actually thought of that first. Do you really think that coming back to a place anywhere near you would be the first choice for me? I've already contacted Hill, and she used a pretty convincing "hell no" on that one. I mean, have you even _seen_ the movie "_Alien"_? If _Loki_ can escape, I'm pretty sure this thing can. And continuing on that train of thought, if it were to kill everyone on board, or really damage the ship in any significant way, we'd soon be dealing with a very damaged helicarrier, a very large crater, and a lot of very dead people."

The younger man in the room, Steve Rogers, while not fully understanding the reference she had used, agreed with Romanoff.

"She's got a point, Tony. We'd be putting a lot of people in unnecessary danger if that thing ended up on the helicarrier." This statement earned him a glare from a certain ex-CEO, but he ignored it. "Also, it would be under watch by three of the Avengers at all time, you, me, and Bruce. And some intel on this little critter wouldn't hurt either."

In that same moment, the aforementioned scientist/rage monster stumbled into the room, his hair a mess, his clothes rumpled, and his stride rocky. His face, viewed by all present, conveyed a silent apology for his lateness, as well as a message that said "you don't want to know". His sat down heavily in the chair just to the left of Steve and gave a small nod and smile to the holographic assassin before him while receiving the same in return. Just as Dr. Bruce Banner had sat down, a shrill cry of anguish startled him a bit too much than seemed necessary.

"Brucey! You've gotta back me up on this one!" The source of the noise, Tony, pleaded with the good doctor with an arm stretch out in Bruce's direction. "It can't be here! It just can't!"

With all eyes on him, Bruce smiled gently before saying in a shaky voice,

"Whatever it is Tony doesn't want, I say go for it, because it's more than likely going to benefit someone else and/or NOT blow something or someone up, if past experience means anything."

This statement garnered three separate reactions: a combination growl, moan, and flop, a slightly smug smile and a further nestling into a chair, and a cocking of a pixilated eyebrow and a self-satisfied smirk. The smirking woman then turned her attention to the flopping man and stated in a coldly victorious voice.

"It's three against one, Tony. I'll make the arrangements immediately."

In response, Tony then rather abruptly flung himself back off of the table and positioned himself mid-fling into resting his hands on the table in a resolute posture.

"No. I count for three by myself."

Another cocked eyebrow and a slight scowl appeared on the woman's face.

"And why is that?"

"It's my tower. My house, my rules, baby."

The other three people who were, in one way or another, in the room, were forced to recognize that this was indeed true, and that this childish man would inevitably have the final say-so in whatever happened to his tower. Then, the three discovered a new fact: it was now a tie. The very smug inventor seemed to recognize this as well, his grin slowly melting as he noted the fierce grins upon his companions' faces. He cursed inwardly at his lack of foresight as the female sang in a slightly bemused tone.

"That means it's a tie, Stark. We need another person to tilt the scales."

Tony's mind began to race as he went through all the people who he could bring into this, but each had it own drawbacks: Pepper (would side with the traitors), Rhodey (ditto_)_, Clint (on a mission_)_, Thor (idiot_)_. Suddenly, one person came to mind that would easily side with him: Carol. That blonde, flustered, Stark-worshipping little girl would easily be cajoled onto his side. It would be so easy. He smirked evilly as he pressed a small button on the bottom of the desk in front of him. A slight crackling sound could be heard emanating from the ceiling as he began to bark.

"Carol! Get your ass to room 12232, ASAP! You might actually turn out to be useful!"

Tony then folded his arms and grinned at his confused companions. He believed had just played the ultimate trump card. An assistant was like putty in his hands, even if she wasn't his assistant, easily molded and bullied. After a moment or so of silence, the sharp "_clack"_-ing of shoes on marble could be heard growing closer and closer until the creak of a door could be heard. Only, it was not the door that leads into the War Room. It was the door next to it. Tony rolled his eyes before jamming his finger back into the button and speaking.

"The one to your left, dear."

The sound of a slamming door was heard a moment later, soon followed by the _"clack"_-ing, and finally the louder creaking of the correct door. A blonde head peaked into the room before a small voice was heard.

"Y-yes, Mr. Stark?"

"Come on in, Carrie. I need your help."

The blonde woman tentatively opened the door to reveal her to the remainder of the team. Her face immediately paled and she straightened out her suit jacket and skirt when she caught a glimpse of the all-stark line up before her, her eyes darting from person to person to hologram. The terrified young woman opened her mouth to speak, but was swiftly interrupted by Stark's brash voice.

"Yes or _no_?"

The young woman looked puzzled for a moment before readjusting her glasses on her nose.

"E-excuse me?"

"Yes or _no_? It's a pretty simple question. Answer. Yes, or _no_?"

Carol paused in surprise and indecision, so three of the four original room occupants attempted to gain the rather flustered girl's favor. Bruce Banner smiled as amicably as he could while nodding his head. Holographic Natasha Romanoff went for the opposite approach, as she scowled slightly and cocked an eyebrow before nodding as well. Tony Stark smiled as well while shaking his head from side to side slightly. The young woman's eyes widened continuously as they darted from face to face, her mouth opening and closing occasionally as she repeatedly changed her mind. After a few moments of intentionally persuasive silence, Stark face began to darken in impatience as his patience thinned. He noticed as he eyes rested for a few moments on something behind him, before she squeezed her eyes shut and sputtered her response.

"Yes!"

The blonde young woman then promptly threw herself from the room and slammed the door behind her.

The utter triumph radiating off of his teammates almost made Tony sick.

He turned on as he sketched the best/worst pout he could muster on his face. The smirk that had appeared upon Natasha Romanoff's face could have peeled the paint off of walls with its ferocity. Bruce had reclined slightly in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. Oddly enough, the only one who did not seem affect by the outcome of the girl's decision was Steve.

Since Carol's arrival, Steve had not spoken, moved, or seemingly even breathed. As Tony studied his currently un-spangled teammate further, he noticed that the man had seemed content to glare holes through that table at Holographic Natasha's feet, scrunch his body into a much tighter and less comfortable position, and flush his face to a distressed crimson color. His observations were cut short by the arrogant voice of Natasha.

"We won, Tony, fair-and-square. Expect us in about three days. Have a nice day, gentlemen."

And with that, the blue-green image of the Black Widow depixilated into nothingness. The three men then began to file out of the room, Steve shoving himself to the front of the pack and bolting out the door. Tony paused for a moment and whispered.

"Hey, Bruce? Did you notice anything off about Cap in there?"

The scientist shrugged in a tired fashion as he hefted himself from his chair before responding.

"I'm not sure. I wasn't really watching him all that closely. Whatever it is, we should probably leave it alone."

But leaving whatever it was alone was no longer an option for the billionaire. The cogs had begun to turn in his head? Cap and the girl. What was the beef? What had they been talking about? What had gotten Spangles's panties in a bunch? Tony grinned evilly as he thought of all of the possibilities. Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes before nudging Tony out of the way.

"Typical Tony."

…

The moment after she had thrown herself from the wacked-up meeting room, Carol had began to borderline sprint away from the room and its incredibly odd inhabitants, shaking her hands furiously in an attempt to dispel the significant amount terror that had built up within her during that short period of time. Her arms shook and her lips trembled as she marched her way back towards the central room, where she had been contemplating stealing one of Mr. Stark's 1965 Jack Daniel's liquor bottles and using its powers to drown her shame away. It had seriously been an option. Right there. So _tempting._

That office _had_ made her crazy.

Carol exhaled sharply though her nose as she returned to the living room.

_What had happened back there?_

_Yes or no? What the hell kind of question was that?_

_Were those…the Avengers?_

_Why was there a miniature woman on the table?_

Carol paced through the living room as she shook her head. Her day had gone from good, to bad, to bad-shit crazy in less than 7 hours. She had never anticipated the job being so difficult. She was just going to managing schedules and filing papers, right?

Nope.

So far, she had done absolutely nothing productive besides make a fool of herself four separate times and be granted ownership of a little shop of horrors and its wooden demon offspring, her desk. She had been a total bitch to an American icon. She had probably just made a very dangerous enemy in the immature and incredibly volatile fiancée of her boss. Carol's pacing steadily increased as each of today's blunders and mishaps passed in front of her mind's eye and she then proceeded to slap a palm to her forehead in an attempt to dispel them. She was so confused she didn't now what to do with herself. Carol had always been a person who had assumed. She had assumed she was getting a bike for her 10th birthday. She had assumed that her dad would be happy that she was joining the Air Force. She had assumed that her new job wasn't going to be a madhouse full of superheroes and lunatics. But, as the saying goes, assuming had made an ass of her, but not anyone else.

Just as Carol had begun to once again to consider the alcohol, the light yet speedy scuffing of loafers could be heard coming down the hallway. Carol peeled her hand from her forehead to see a fuming Steve Rogers stride past. His face was set into a stern glower and his fists swung as he moved. He was only visible for a moment, but in that brief moment, he and Carol made a split-second of eye contact. It may have been brief, but it was enough to convey the message: Carol was a disgusting bitch who deserved to rot in hell. Carol made no attempt to challenge that. She just put her hand back onto her head and kept on pacing.

Carol's new guilt had just begun to truly soak in when two new pairs of feet could be heard, along with a quiet but frenzied voice that she regrettably recognized. Sure enough, Tony Stark and another bored-looking man walked past the living room just as she looked up. Carol swiftly righted herself in an attempt to save as much face as she could and stepped out into the hallway in front of the two men. When they stopped, one bore a sneer and the other bore a tired smile. Tony, the sneering one, was the first to speak.

"Well hey, traitor. I'm surprised to see you're still around after that little stunt back there." He folded his arms and jutted his head towards the other man before continuing. "Carol, meet Brucey. Brucey, meet Carol."

The slightly older man extended a large hand towards the young woman and she accepted, sealing their introduction. Bruce nodded slightly and extended his smile. Carol grinned in return before turning towards Tony.

"What was going on in there, Mr. Stark? With all due respect, I'd like to know what I was deciding on that put you and," she paused, "Steve in such bad moods."

Tony's sneer never dropped as he answered.

"'All due respect' my ass. It's not really any of your concern, except for the fact that there's going to be an alien in the tower in three days." He turned his shoulders to shove by Carol. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some Star-Spangled snooping to do."

After Tony had trudged down the hall and around a corner, Carol turned back to Dr. Banner and began to ask.

"I was wondering. Were those…the…Avengers in that room?"

"Yes. Well, the majority of us."

Carol fidgeted slightly before continuing.

"So, um, does…does that mean you're the Hu-"

"He doesn't really like that word." Bruce interrupted. "He prefers the Other Guy, but yes. That's 'us'."

Carol smiled uneasily.

"And the woman on the table was…?"

"Natasha, the Black Widow. She's away on a mission and had a favor to ask us."

Carol fidgeted even more than before, and her eyes left Bruce's.

"Does that mean that Steve-um, Mr. Rogers- is…um…?"

"Captain America? Yep."

Carol's face blanched as her deepest fear was confirmed. Bruce checked his watch.

"Oh, crap. I'm late for my therapy. It was really nice to meet you, Carol. And please, don't take anything Tony says to heart. He's kind of a moron, in case you couldn't tell already."

And with that, he was gone, leaving an even more confused Carol.

…

Mar-Vell's eyes shot open as he awoke from his fitful slumber. His body was slicked with sweat, which made his leg sting even more than it already did. His breath was short and ragged as his eyes attempted to get some bearing on where he was. Every way he looked gave him only a view of darkness. Absolutely no light was visible. Mar-Vell's already-high level of fear sky-rocketed at the utter lack of visual ability. He hastily attempted to stand, only to receive a new wave of pain, though duller than before, which sent him crashing back down into the cold glass beneath him. Mar-Vell had never felt so alone and so terrified in all his life. His body scrunched itself into a strange crouching position, with his legs bent, his shoulders hunched, and his arms hugging his legs close to his chest. The soft texture of his legs told the captive Kree that he was still wearing the Terran female's pants from before, which gave him some comfort in the fact that he did not have to worry about waking up naked again.

Mar-Vell still possessed no inkling of why he was being held captive by the Terrans. The only thing he vaguely remembered occurring before he woke up the first time was running as quickly as he could. Where he was running to or from was a mystery to him, but it was rather apparent to the alien that he had not made it to where he needed to be. He recalled a searing pain suddenly blooming in his left calf, and then falling to the rather hard ground below and having his head give off a sickening crack. He had awoken dazed and incoherent a few moments later surrounded by Terrans in black before seeing a Terran with dazzlingly red hair. After that, consciousness was lost to him.

He now recognized the red hair of the Terran ring leader. The female who had spoken with him previously. The very creature whose pants he was currently wearing. The little red-headed she-devil had apprehended the greatest warrior in the universe.

_How pathetic. _Marvel internally chastised himself for his apparent fool hardiness.

The mission had been simple: harvest the seemingly unusable elements from the Terran disaster zone. The ignorant little Terrans hadn't been using it, so why not take it? The mission had only needed about 2 hours to complete, but the Terrans had been waiting.

That was all Mar-Vell remembered. No matter how much he tried to remember, he drew up exclusively a blank.

Realizing that attempting to recollect anything further would be fruitless, Mar-Vell shook his head and began to ponder where he was. He began to feel against the walls by extending his arms, and realized that this container was almost exactly identical to the previous one he had shattered, but the vibrations of his heart beat reverberating through the glass told him that the glass was much thicker than before, and therefore much harder to break. With a thought, Mar-Vell's eyes were suddenly covered by a strange clear liquid coming from his tear ducts, and his vision immediately was transformed into the infrared spectrum. He could now easily see the heat radiating off of his body, which was viewed as a vibrant magenta color. He was then startled by the multitude of warm bodies that were just outside the covered box. The box itself was merely covered by a dark cloth, judging by the heat being absorbed by the tightly-packed particles. Many creatures, Terrans he assumed, bustled about outside the glass. They darted about Mar-Vell's line of sight with the exception on one who stood still with a hand on its hip and its gaze directed towards another warm yet small object before it. The barely-audible voice that he received indicated that it was female. The very red-headed female who had ruined his pride. Mar-Vell gritted his teeth and growled at the thought of that wretched creature.

_She will pay._

After a moment or so of the red-headed dog speaking to the little hot box, the heated cube suddenly vanished from sight and the female turned around. She placed a hand on the box and murmured something that Mar-Vell lurched forward to hear. As he focused his attention on her disgusting frame, the coloration of her infrared aura shifted to a slightly pinkish hue. Mar-Vell's piqued interest clouded his hate for the woman, but only for a moment.

_This woman will pay dearly._

…

The moment after Natasha had exited the holographic link with her team mates and the incredibly inconsequential blonde girl, she dialed a number into the keypad on her right gauntlet. Her earphone buzzed, and after a couple of buzzes, a stern female voice spoke.

"Please tell me you've got good news, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha's nose crinkled slightly as she responded.

"I wouldn't exactly call it 'good', but I do have news, Director Hill."

The woman on the phone, S.H.I.E.L.D Director Maria Hill sighed in an almost condescending way before she spoke.

"Well? What've you got?"

Natasha had always liked Maria as a person. She was always a strict, no-nonsense, goal-driven young woman who could adapt and improvise in any situation. She could not have picked a better person to succeed Nick Fury as Director after his little AWOL stunt a while back. All that said, Maria had always had a habit of being a little over bearing and just a smidge over the top.

Natasha's voice carried no emotion as she responded.

"Stark has agreed to take the thing into his custody for the time being. It seemed like the best available option. With all due respect, you didn't give me much to work with."

A pause. Another sigh.

"Good work, Agent Romanoff. That is the best possible situation for our friend. I'll get in contact with Agent Barton and Agent Drew to accompany the package to ensure safe delivery."

Natasha's heart lurched for a second. Barton. How long had it been since they had seen each other. It felt like an eternity. And the way Maria had said her old partner and his new partner's names in such a flowing manner caused a small flame of envy to flair up. That was the way Fury used to say his name and Natasha's name. And now he had a new partner. Jessica Drew, codenamed Arachne. The two spider women had met before, but had never really gotten along. Now, Jessica was with Barton more than Natasha had ever been. Natasha's face drooped ever so slightly.

_He's always had a thing for English girls too._

Natasha heard her own voice, but could not feel herself saying it.

"Why don't I just accompany it, and rendezvous with Barton and the Avengers when we arrive-"

Maria's voice was sharp and loud, causing Natasha to flinch as her superior interrupted.

"Because you are on a mission, Agent Romanoff. The mission always comes first. You should know better than to speak to your superior in such a way."

Another pause. Another sigh.

"I'm sending Agent T'Challa to accompany you, anyway. The two of you should be able to clean up the remainder of the mission without many problems."

"The Black Panther, ma'am?"

"Yes, the Black Panther. Now, goodbye, Agent Romanoff."

…

The scent of apple strudel could not have been more welcome to Carol's nostrils as she stepped into her apartment. The small Glade wall plug-in had been chugging merrily along providing the entire room with the warm melty scent of the fruity delight. The darkness was pervaded only by the small light in the wall. Carol's finger flicked against the light switch, illuminating the average sized apartment. The décor of the living space portrayed the personality of its sole inhabitant: organized, neat, and very plaid. ("What? Plaid's an okay color!") Carol's stride was triumphant and relieved yet tired as she marched into her new home.

The first thing Carol did after she entered the apartment was take off her shoes, look at them thoughtfully for a moment, and then proceed to chunk the little black death traps at the wall as hard as she could.

_Now who's the boss, you little bitches?_

Finally liberated from her shiny black tormentors, Carol waltzed past the kitchen, down the hall, and into her room to change. Carol rather roughly removed the suit jacket and skirt that she had almost soiled three separate times that day and flung them into the hamper as hard as she could. It may not have been the smartest way or most professional way to remove a suit, but Carol was at home now. She could do whatever she dam well wanted to.

A few moments later, Carol was splayed out on her bed on her bed in far more comfortable attire: a camisole t-shirt and sweat pants paired with her fuzziest pair of socks. Carol was attempting to begin her working evening.

_Okay, let's get something done-._

_And it's Tumblr time._

_There's no way that's a real cat-._

Carol shook her head sharply and stilled her typing fingers.

_Carol! Focus, woman! You have a job now! You can't just be dorking around on the internet when you should be focusing on-._

_And Facebook._

Realizing that resistance was futile, Carol allowed herself half and hour to stuff her gluttonous mind with the Tumblr posts and status updates of others. That hour swiftly turned into an hour, then two hours, and then it was midnight.

Carol was finally forced to shut down her laptop after the annoying red light that meant "turn me off". After she had attached the power cord to her baby and slid it under her bed, Carol leaned back on her bed to ponder on what had occurred that day.

_Well, for starters, my job is completely insane. _

_I got the office from hell thrust into my unwitting hands._

Carol's eyes drifted over to her wall, where a tall man in a red, white, and blue uniform stood proudly and sexily saluting her, with a shield in the opposite hand. She saluted back before realizing something.

_I insulted an American icon. Twice. _

Carol groaned and flopped slightly on her bed.

_I made an enemy out of the richest man in the world._

_I met two people in one body. _

_I saw a tiny green-blue woman on a table._

_Apparently, there's going to be an alien. Okay._

_I did absolutely nothing productive. _

A pause.

_Not a bad first day. Not a first bad day at all._

Carol then reached over to her night stand to place her glasses down and switch off her lamp, snuggled under the covers, and closed her eyes.

_Not a bad first day at all._


	8. Chapter 8: TROUBLE! TROUBLE TROUBLE!

**A/N:**** It's time for part 8!**

**This chapter is finalizing the rising action of this story and solidifying the story's baseline plot.**

**In this chapter, you will find: Taylor Swift, an impromptu and painful meeting, ears life a rabbit, a stuffed cat, Rihanna, and lots and lots of garbage.**

**Remember, reviews are the greatest gift a writer can give another writer. Did you see something you liked? Did you see something you didn't like? Please review and let me know!**

**Also, I have a new poll on my profile page about Marvelous and other Marvel Comicverse-to-Movieverse adaptations, so please stop by and make your voice heard.**

**Lastly, if you're like me, you like to listen to music when you read fanfiction. In reaction, I am building the "Marvelous Soundtrack" with songs of all kinds that someone could listen to while reading this story in order to fully immerse themselves into the story. If you have an idea, please place it into a review or a PM and send it to me! It would really mean a lot!**

**Note: I own no characters in the story.**

In contrast to her college-days "theme song", Carol did not wake up in the morning three days later feeling like P. Diddy. Unless P. Diddy feels like a combination of boredom, anxiety, sleep deprivation, and surrendered irritation. It was Thursday, Carol's favorite day of the week, and in the fifteen minutes she had been floundering around in her bed, it had so far sucked. Like Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.

Carol had always considered herself a morning person. Her usually chipper demeanor at 5:00 AM had given her adoration, perplexed-ness, and oftentimes complete and total hatred from others. However, this morning, the early bird was seriously contemplating chunking her merrily chiming alarm clock that read "5:00" out her window and sleeping in until 6:00. She could be a bad girl when she wanted to be.

Carol soon found that her sorry ass was not going to leave her bed willingly without some encouragement, so, with a groggy attempt at a smirk on her face, Carol spun around in her covers until she was facing her large wooden nightstand. She fumbled with the imitation-gold handle in her foggy state of mind until the drawer slid open, revealing one of Carol's proudest possessions: her iPod attached to her $180 Beats headphones. Carol smiled warmly while her hand snaked down under her almost-child to gently extract it. She and Nina had been through a lot together. Family fights, loud party nights down the hall in the dorms at school, fits of homesickness during boot camp; you name it, Nina and Carol had been through it together.

Carol eased the perfectly-molded headphones on to her head and chose her song. She felt energy course through her as the music poured into her ears.

"_Find light in the beautiful sea,_

_I choose to be happy,_

_You and I, You and I,_

_We're like diamonds in the sky."_

Carol smiled again as she began to prop her body on an arm in preparation for Operation: Wake The Hell Up.

_Ah, Rih-Rih, nobody understands me like you do._

Five minutes later, Carol had fully peeled her sleepy peepers and was decked out in the full attire for the next part of her morning routine: a pair of athletic sweatpants, a navy blue windbreaker, and sneakers. Carol made it a point to stay as active as possible in order to maintain the physically fit physique the military had carved her into. She was never going to be anyone's token fat friend ever again. Already feeling the pre-emptive adrenaline rush shoot through her veins, Carol grabbed Nina, swooped into the kitchen for her pre-filled water bottle, and bounded out the door.

Carol ended up at the corner of 53rd and Walker Street a few moments later, at the base of her building. The early December air brought a satisfying sting to her lungs as they prepared for their exertion. The sky was a murky gray as the sun had begun to tease at awakening, but the street was fully illuminated as the tall weary-looking street lamps bled their orange radiance on the sidewalk. Carol bounced on her feet one, two, three times before adjusting her stride to a satisfactory length and shooting off down the street.

As Carol continued down 53rd Street, she began to recollect the past few weeks' occurrences. And how much they sucked. It was astonishing how much her life had changed over the course of one incredibly-short month. She had arrived in the Big Apple only a moth before, leaving behind the comparatively-safer and less-out-to-rape-her Boston for her chance at a big break in the business world. She had been starry-eyed and dreamy, with visions of Disney Channel movies and _Sex In The City_ dancing her head.

It only took her three days to realize how wrong she'd been.

In those first three days, she had been locked out of her apartment twice, been asked if she "was working tonight" by an old man when she was coming home from a friend-of-a-friend's Halloween party one night, and had been held up by a homeless man brandishing a finger shoved in his shirt. All of these things would have scared a lesser woman back to Boston with her tail between her legs.

But, as it already may have been established, Carol Danvers was no ordinary woman.

When she wasn't being robbed by men with AK-40-Fingers and being called a prostitute, Carol had been preparing for her new job as an executive assistant to one of the most powerful men in the world. She had honed her paper-filing skills into a work of art. She had trained herself to be able to write 200 words per minute (not type though. That she does with just her index fingers and occasionally her thumbs when she's feeling especially fancy). She had been trying on business suits and poker-faces as often as she could in order to determine the right pair.

Not one bit of her preparation had even come close for getting her ready for what the reality of Stark Tower would be.

On her first day, she had expected a nice desk (she still got that little dreamy smile whenever she dreamt of it) with a kick-ass view of the cityscape, co-workers that she could passive-aggressively despise, and a semi-sane working environment where she could be as professional as she could. What she got was a tiny corner office that was hotter than hell in a volcano in a desert on the Sun and a desk that pleaded with her daily to put it out of its horribly not-dream-worthy misery, a group of superhumans that either seemed to hate her or barely tolerate her, and a workplace that had made her seriously contemplate flinging herself out of the window and seeing how long it took for her body to hit the ground.

_Oh yeah, and I also made the sexiest man alive want to watch and time my fall out the window. And then pick up my corpse and do it again._

Rather unprofessional.

Carol noticed that the sun's pink first rays had begun to tickle the darkness into a less-somber royal blue color and that she was almost to the park when she internally examined her second day. After learning that she was indeed NOT the assistant to Tony Stark (GLORY HALLELUJAH) and meeting her real boss, the rather sane and mature Ms. Potts, Carol had assumed that her job would get a little more normal.

There's that assuming again.

For the entire day, she had been forced to perform pointless and sometimes crass actions on behalf of the infamously immature Mr. Stark because a) she wanted to keep her job, and keeping her boss's fiancée happy meant keeping her job and b) it's not like she was doing anything productive anyway. Ms. Potts rarely had little real use for Carol besides taking out the garbage (which she had to do a rather unprofessional number of times) and occasionally fetching coffee or filing papers (which she was a proper ninja of doing anyway), so Carol was put to use by the tower's upper floor's other occupants. One of her first missions had been from Dr. Banner, and it was asked of her that she retrieve Tony Stark from his laboratory where he had been apparently since just after Carol had left on Monday. Her efforts had earned her a barely-dodged flying wrench and "points for participation" from Ms. Potts.

Her third day was pondered as she coincidentally glanced up and noticed that she was quickly coming up on her rest-stop fountain that had the naked stone people covered with bird crap in it. Day three had marked the third day that she had been receiving the cold shoulder from her childhood hero. She had been unwittingly introduced to her girlhood idol and adolescent fantasy focus. And she'd turned him down on a date. It took all of Carol's will not to slap her forehead for the umpteenth time at her blunder while running. Since then, she had been trying to find the least awkward period of time in which to apologize, but each time Steve had simply stood up and left or simply completely ignored her. It wasn't the fact that Carol had really wanted to go on a date with Captain America that she wanted to apologize (although who wouldn't want to go on a date with the single most beautiful vision of the American fever-dream?). It was the fact that Carol HATED being ignored, regardless of the circumstance, especially when the one ignoring her is the very man she'd had a poster of on her wall since she was 7. She also didn't need any extra baggage of office animosities in her life right now.

Carol skidded to a halt just in front of the fountain and forcefully sucked air through her teeth. As she attempted to get a grip of her breathing, Carol glanced down at her watch. It read 5:37, which meant that she now had a little less than an hour to be home and in the shower. For now, however, the jogging early-bird seemed content to place her hands above her head and breathe deeply. The rapid cooling of her sweat caused her body to shiver slightly as her eyes scanned the almost completely abandoned street. A smile slowly crept its way across Carol's face as an old thought dug itself out from the depths of Carol's memory. She remembered something her friend Janet had said a while back about how singing helped the body regulate oxygen intake and return the body back to a healthy state of breathing without wheezing. With a final eye-flick from side to side to make sure that no one would be there to judge her, Carol dug Nina from the depths of her pocket and selected a song. She was going to kick this song's ass.

Her voice shocked the thick, soft quiet that had been sleeping on the street into awareness and scared it away.

"_I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE WHEN YOU WALKED IN, SO SHAME ON ME,_

_YOU TOOK ME To…_ la la la la…_COLD HARD GROUND!_

_OH1 O-OH! TROUBLE TORUBLE TROU-!"_

Carol's not-quite-melodious adventure was cut suddenly short by a powerful force on her back sending her face careening to a rather swift and rather unexpected meeting.

Carol's face, meet ground; ground, meet Carol's face.

Carol attempted to roll through her fall, but succeeded in only grazing her face even further that she would have had she gone with it. The young woman turned over as quickly as she could in order to see what had forced her rather painful introduction to cement. It appeared to be a man, but Carol hadn't yet put on her contacts and without her contacts or glasses, Carol's eyes were almost useless. She was pissed now. The asshole had hit her on purpose. Regardless of the truth, that's what happened.

"Hey, asshole! Try watching where the hell you're going next time, okay?!"

Despite only being an embryo New Yorker, Carol's tongue had adapted rather quickly to the dialect of "Yankee douche bag" that seemed to be the norm here. Carol's assailant stammered out a response while extending a hand.

"I-I'm really sorry, ma'am. I was running and I didn't see you there and...Um, h-here let me he-."

The man suddenly hesitated and froze in place. Carol hefted herself from the ground and began dusting her windbreaker before sighing and answering.

"Save it, you're forgiven."

And with that she sped off back towards home at a velocity that she had not expected to be moving at in any point of her life.

…

Steve Rogers simply stood at the fountain, dumbly staring at the ground where she'd been sprawled. It had been an accident. Really it had.

_Why does she hate me?_

...

At precisely 6:34, Carol had just finished the angriest shower she had ever taken.

_The gall of that pig! I mean, what the hell?!_

With steam figuratively and literally billowing off of her, Carol dove into her closet and clawed for her new black suit set. She flung the clothing on the bed and proceeded to fiercely scrub her head with her towel. That little shit had more than likely just ruined her day when it had barely started.

A few moments later, Carol was clothed and dragging a brush through her thoroughly raggedy locks, relishing the pain as the bristles tore at the knots in her mangy blonde hair as food for the fire of her rage. She scoured her teeth with the opposite in a state of world-class raged multitasking. She enjoyed the feeling. It made her feel powerful.

A few additional moments later, Carol's teeth were angrily tearing into a poor, defenseless waffle smothered with the damnably delicious super-condiment Nutella. The world did not deserve to be so happy and delicious today.

…

At precisely 7:56, the sleek elevator doors revealed the world of the Stark-Potts residence to Unimpressed Carol's unimpressed face. Carol strode purposefully towards the large office that belonged to Ms. Potts in order to discover if there was the odd chance of her actually being needed to do something meaningful today. The moment Carol threw open the large translucent glass door, she sensed something amiss. She sensed something _annoying_. Sure enough, the large black leather chair positioned behind the tears-of-joy-worthy desk swung around slowly to reveal a dark-haired stubbly man in pajamas stroking what appeared to be a stuffed cat.

"We've been expecting you, Ms. Danvers."

Carol barely contained an eye roll as she relaxed her unwittingly tensed posture into a position of boredom and irritation. Her voice dripped venom as she spoke.

"Is there something you need from me, Mr. Stark?"

The inventor smirked deviously.

"How are you, Carol?"

"Don't patronize me, Mr. Stark. We both know you don't care."

"Point taken. Well, among _other things I might need later,_ I actually do have a pretty important job for you today, but I will not tell you unless you fulfill my requirement."

Carol scoffed but maintained her poker-face.

"And that would be…?"

"You must ask me while referring to me as 'Pimp Daddy Tony.'"

Carol's face was pulled into a grimace of shock as she was completely caught off-guard by Tony's request. The utter immaturity and insanity of this man was reaffirmed and even built upon in Carol's mind every time he spoke with her. After a moment or so, the shock had faded and Carol rediscovered the will to speak.

"You can't be serious Mr. Stark. Seriously, please just-."

A thrust of the inventor's hand and the spinning of his chair to face away from her cut Carol off mid-sentence. This man had some serious gall.

"I'm not going to-."

Arm thrust.

"I mean it's completely unprofessio-."

Arm thrust.

"Please Mr. Stark?"

Arm thrust.

Carol sighed and kneaded her hands slightly. The bile had already begun to rise into her throat as she sighed slowly and uttered the words.

"Pimp Daddy Tony?"

An innocent-sounding voice cam from behind the chair.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind telling me my "important job"."

"Say it again."

"PIMP DADDY TONY!"

The unkempt billionaire spun in his chair, a gleeful smirk on his face.

"That's more like it. I need you to come up onto the roof with me. Now."

…

The moment Carol and Tony had exited the stairwell and appeared on the roof of Stark Tower, the dull hum of a helicopter could be heard swiftly closing the distance between itself and the tower. Tony smiled from behind his sunglasses as a black speck on the horizon began to speed towards the tower. Carol's jaw hung slightly and rather unprofessionally as she realized two things: a helicopter was going to be landing on the tiny landing pad that was only about 10 feet away, and she was probably going to get her head chopped off.

The helicopter had reached the tower's roof in only a matter of minutes, and began to hover just above the pair situated on the tower. Carol desperately attempted to keep her skirt down while the powerful winds seemed determined to force her to flash the entire city while Tony seemed content to simply smile arrogantly at the copter. A few moments later, the bottom of the helicopter proceeded to form a large square-shaped opening, and a large box began to be lowered down via several pulleys. Carol approximated the cube at being about 10 feet high and 8 feet wide, with a black canvas pulled taught and fastened over its frame. The box landed heavily on the concrete roof, and Carol took s slight step forward to investigate, only to be nearly conked in the head by a falling step ladder. Looking up in surprise, Carol noticed two people descending the ladder, a man and a woman. The pair came closer to the end of their descent, and Carol timidly stepped back to allow the apparently-important-enough-to-have-a-helicopter individuals room to drop safely.

The man reached the ground first, and immediately glanced at the box to ensure its safe descent. After such was proven, he turned towards the blonde-and-brunette pair and smiled slightly, directing his attention towards Stark.

"Special delivery for a Mr. Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist."

Tony's smiled extended as he shook the man's hand.

"Long time no see, Robin Hood. How've you been holding up?"

The other man, a stocky blonde man with unnaturally thick arms, shrugged.

"Eh, same old same old, I guess. Kill some people, don't die, and call it a day."

The man then turned away from Stark to view his companion finally leaving the ladder.

"This here is Agent Jessica Drew. She's a brand-new agent, and I've been showing her the ropes for the past couple of months… and don't you dare stare at her ass, Stark. I'll kick your ass."

At the black-haired young woman's arrival, the copter-man suddenly seemed to notice Carol's existence. He extended a hand in her direction, and Carol shook it firmly, despite the still-trembling status of her knees.

"Agent Clint Barton."

The black-haired girl spoke, quickly shooing Barton's hand away from Carol's before taking the apparently older woman's hand into her own.

"Jessica Drew. Charmed, I'm sure."

"Carol Danvers. I'm new."

_I'm new AND I sound like a moron._

Despite Carol's flub, Jessica's smile was infectious and vibrant, and her thick Cockney accent tickled Carol's ears to the point of smiling back. The group's attention was then suddenly transitioned to the floor beneath the box as it began to open, carefully delivering the box down to the Stark lab.

Tony's brash voice broke the silence.

"I guess we'll have a look see at the little bugger."

…

In a matter of moments, the foursome had relocated to the Stark-Lab, the nickname given to Tony's Stark favorite escape for inventing, creating, and binge-drinking. The group was just about to begin the showing when Dr. Banner and Steve Rogers strode into the room after receiving word from Tony that "The UFO had landed". The box was positioned on top of a small platform for ease of viewing, and the group, excluding Barton, stood in a semicircle around the box.

Carol had been trying to decipher what the hell was going on when she realized that she was standing just to the left of Steve Rogers. He stood with his arms crossed and his face solemn, like a parent about to scold a child. Carol's mind wandered, completely disregarding whatever it was that Mr. Barton was saying.

_It's a good look for him. Makes me want to be a little naughty girl and- wait, what the hell was that?!_

Carol had unconsciously began to sweat from her self-embarrassment, but she soon recognized that this was probably the best chance she was going to get at her apology. Harnessing her courage, Carol extended a tentative finger towards the Captain's arm, hesitated, and finally tapped him slightly, her finger relishing the feeling of his delicious muscles beneath it. The only acknowledgement she received was a slight glance. A cold, hard glance. Taking her chances, Carol took a deep breath and whispered.

"Um, Mr. Rogers? I'm really sorry about what I said to you on Monday. I wasn't aware that-."

Now it was Steve's turn to interrupt. His voice was sharp and cold, like a scolding parent.

"Save it. You're forgiven."

At those rude words, Carol's heart sank.

_Does he hate me now? Does the symbol of America hate me?_

_Oh dear God, does that means AMERICA HATES ME?_

Suddenly, she pondered something, her heart tightening in perplexed-ness. Where did that sound familiar?

"_Save it. You're forgiven."_

She had said it to that that man earlier today.

The jogging man.

The polite jogging man.

The polite jogging man that looked just…like…Steve…

_Oh._

_Strike three for Carol._

Carol's face blanched and sagged at her third blunder towards Mr. Hunky McStankAss. Why did he have to be everywhere? It just didn't make sense how he was always in the right place at the right time for her to do something stupid to or near him. Suddenly, Carol realized something.

_He used my own line against me._

_No one does that._

_Not even friggin' Captain America._

_Even if he is sexier than anything I've ever seen._

Carol's darkening face was suddenly snapped to attention as Barton began an announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen…"

The cloth was torn free of the box.

What Carol saw, she knew she would never forget.

The creature inside looked a lot like a person, but its skin was a dark chocolate color and its hair was a slivery white color. It sat with its legs and arms crossed, its mouth pulled into a haughty sneer to display its rather large, vampire-like canines. It large, thin, pointed ears were pointed straight up at attention, almost like those of a dog or a rabbit. Its eyes were narrowed into slits, but a slight glow emanated from them as they darted to each face in the room. A low growl could be heard.

Barton concluded his announcement with a flourish of his arms.

"I give you E.T., the extraterrestrial."


	9. Chapter 9: Carol: The Musical

**A/N:**** More plot. I'm trying to get the plot to start moving so I can get to the climax before Christmas, because I have big plans for Carol at Christmas.**

**In this chapter, you will find: A raging bitch, a mysterious connection, haughty accents, Advil, horrible horror flicks, and a musical starring everyone's favorite assistant.**

**Remember, reviews are the greatest gift a writer can give to another writer, so please review! Did you see something you liked? Did you see something you didn't like? Please review and let me know!**

**Also, there's still a poll on my profile page. So yeah. My poll has turned out to be incredibly inconclusive, so please check it out and make your voice heard.**

**Happy Reading!**

**Note: I own no characters in this story. **

Carol couldn't help but stare at it.

Or him.

Or whatever the hell it was.

Her breath was caught in her throat, her palms sweat, and her brain screamed at her to think of something, anything, else, but her eyes remained locked on the creature inside the glass box. The creature in question also had neglected to move, or to even do anything that would betray that it was a living creature. Its stiff, almost monk-like sitting posture exuded an air of arrogance and condescension, as if it was too important to even acknowledge the humans' existence. Its ears stuck straight up in the air at attention, but it did not seem to be hearing anything that was being said in the room. Its jaw was set to reveal shockingly white and rather pointy canine teeth akin to a creature that drained its victims of fluids. The muscles under the dusky brown skin of its arms and torso were taught and ready to pounce at a moments notice.

In short, to Carol, it looked like either the workings of an over-worked, under-paid comic book writer, or a vision of hell.

Either way, Carol was already positive that she did not want to even be breathing the same air as that…thing.

Thankfully, Carol was shocked from her awed stupor by the sharp voice of Agent Barton.

"What we have here," the agent began while gesturing to the creature in the box, "is apparently a Kree: an extraterrestrial race of humanoid creatures that have been recently popping up on our planet in vast numbers. Their motives are still as of yet unclear, but we do know that-."

Carol received an odd look from Barton as she raised her hand high. After a moment of stunned silence and a few mixed-condescending-and-confused glances, Barton acknowledged the grade-school gesture.

"Um…yes, Carol?"

The assistant attempted, and failed, to keep a sheepish expression from her face as she answered.

"I was wondering: am I even allowed to be seeing this? I mean, it seems like it's pretty hush-hush." In her awkwardly fumbling state, Carol pressed a finger to her lips twice for emphasis. She was on a role with bad first impressions. "As just an assistant, I'm not even sure if I'm qualified to be in the same building as this 'Kree'. If you don't mind my asking, sir, would you like me to leave?"

Barton's expression was priceless: his eyes were bugged out his head, his brows were furrowed, and his lips were pulled down into a rather confused frown. His eyes flickered from the blonde, to the boxed creature, to the assortment of super-humans gathered in the room, and finally back to the blonde. His voice was slightly hoarse in confusion as he spoke.

"Well, do you want to leave?"

It was now Carol's turn to put on her confused face.

It wasn't pretty.

Barton's face never changed as he gestured towards the Stark-Lab's stairs.

"Because by all means, if this is too much, you can go whenever you'd like."

Carol had been expecting some holier-than-thou, _Mean Girls-_esque "YOU CAN'T SIT WITH US!" response and that she would be forced to leave the premises and practice her paper-basketball skills in her office again.

There's that assuming again.

The thing that really caught Carol off-guard, however, was the "if it's too much" bit.

_Who the hell does he think he is?_

_I'm Carol Danvers, damn it! I can handle anything!_

Carol's flushed red as a slight grin crept on to the blonde agent's face. A hint of a growl seeped into her voice as she brushed the embarrassment off of her suit and responded.

"No sir. I was just wondering…"

Seemingly satisfied after a short silence, Barton continued with his presentation, much to the chagrin of one borderline sadistic inventor.

"As I was saying, what we do know about these things is that they're strong, fast, and incredibly intelligent. Just a handful of them can bring down an entire company of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best-trained men within a pretty small time frame."

Carol's eyes flicked once again to the alien in the transparent prison. Everything Agent Barton had said could be proven just by looking at the creature. Its long legs and large feet were definitely built for running. Its thick, powerful arms and chest looked as though the creature could easily bench-press a truck. Its haughty demeanor gave it a sense of vast intellect. Barton continued as Carol continued to stare.

"Also, for some reason, these buggers have been abducting humans on a rather large scale. Why is currently unknown, but entire rural towns in parts of China, the US, Canada, and most recently Russia have been vanishing into thin air. No traces, no sings of struggle, no nothing. Their patterns also seem to be pretty much random, but slowly gaining ground towards more populated areas."

Barton's attention then turned towards the object of Carol's. The creature's eyes flick towards Barton, and its growl deepened.

"This little guy was apprehended three days ago by Agent Romanoff's team in near what used to be Chernobyl, Ukraine. Unlike their brethren, this one's team was harvesting nuclear wastes from the reactors that exploded and caused the disaster. It was caught in a bear trap while the group was trying to..."

Carol, ever the attentive young lady, allowed her bored mind to wander.

_Chernobyl._

_Chernobyl Diaries._

_That movie sucked._

"…shattered its original containment cube, so we really…"

_So did Shark Night 3D._

_What is the deal with sucky horror movies?_

"…in particular is uniquely powerful among its race, and it…"

_Maybe I should make one myself._

_I could call it **"Raging Bitch from Hell Is Going to Mess You Up If You Touch Her Shit Again, Tony Stark"**, starring Carol Danvers._

"-and Carol, am I boring you?"

Carol snapped back to attention as quickly as she could to see all eyes in the room on her. She received various looks: a smirk and a wink from Tony, expressions of concern from Agent Drew and Dr. Banner, and a stern eyebrow-raising from Steve. Agent Barton's irritation was growing as the silence did. Carol averted her eyes shamefully.

"N-no sir. Please go on."

Very unprofessional.

Barton was unconvinced.

"You know, the leaving thing is still an option."

Although Carol could sense the twinge of humor in Clint's voice, she would not tolerate being spoken to condescendingly as if she were a child. Her head snapped up and her face crushed itself into a venomous glare.

"I'm fine!"

The others in the room, who had been smiling mildly at Agent Barton's joke, swiftly swiveled their heads towards the aforementioned raging bitch, eyes large and mouths slightly agape. Her voice had been sharp and powerful, and almost growling. Barton's slight smile had been wiped away instantly and replaced by a startled cringe. Carol herself had been stunned by her outburst, but she understood that she had been justified in her actions. She had not been spoken to in such a way since…

_Since Dad._

Quickly dispelling her unsavory thoughts with a shake of her head, Carol continued, her voice stern but less malicious.

"Please continue."

Little did anyone else in the room know, Carol's little outburst attracted the attention of someone else.

…

_Pathetic Terrans._

Mar-Vell had made it a point to not move at all from his original position during the yellow-headed imbecile's little show and tell. He would not allow the Terrans to turn him into some sort of dancing animal for their amusement. In fact, they should have been doing such for him. The Terrans had no idea what they were toying with.

Mar-Vell's narrowed eyes darted from face to face, marveling on how truly ugly Terrans could be. Their pasty pale skin and their dark filthy hair almost made bile rise in his throat. Their tragically small statures reminded him of Kree younglings, but in the incredibly-annoying way. Fortunately, the red-headed dog had not accompanied him on his seemingly-eternal journey to wherever he was now. As the yellow-headed male continued his speech of incoherent garble, Mar-Vell began to search for some means of escape, because obviously, the Terrans were far too dull to contain the great Mar-Vell. They had proven as much once already.

Mar-Vell had begun to slowly become more and more insecure with every passing moment that the Terrans were staring at him. He knew full well that he was only half clothed, that he was completely and utterly trapped, and that he was completely defenseless against the prodding stares. However, he refused to let any of this be known to his captors, because that would be, of course, rather undignified.

Suddenly, a sharp sound cut through Mar-Vell's arrogant thoughts and forced his attention to something he hadn't noticed before. A small female stood just to the left of the big, yellow-headed lurching freak-job, a fierce visage upon her face. Her skin was dark like honey, and her hair was light and shimmered slightly in the fluorescent lights. Mar-Vell's jaw almost dropped at the sight. Almost.

_Could it…could it really be?_

The Kree captain's thoughts instantly burst forth, as if they had been dammed up in his mind.

_That sound. That voice. I could understand it perfectly._

"_I'm fine."_

_Could it really be so?_

_No. No it couldn't._

_But it could…?_

_Shut up, optimism. Your opinion is insignificant._

Finally breaking his stone-like positioning, Mar-Vell turned his gaze fully to her and called out.

"Hello?"

Every Terran head in the room snapped in his direction, triggering an instinctual eye-roll on Mar-Vell's behalf.

"_Oh wow! The little alien speaks! Maybe it can do tricks!" Pathetic._

The female stood stunned, staring directly back at him and into his eyes. Puzzled, Mar-Vell noticed nothing un-ordinary among Terrans involving her eyes. But he knew there was something there. He tried again.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

He slowly began to uncurl his twisted limbs as he stared intently at the female, hoping for some sort of reaction to his words. All he received was an expression of combined fear and piqued interest. At least it was something. He kept trying.

"My name is Mar-Vell. Where am I? How did I get here?"

Eventually, the fair-haired female seemed to sense that she was being spoken to directly and furrowed her brows in seeming confusion. She opened her mouth to speak. Mar-Vell's hopes were sent sky-rocketing upwards…

…And forced crashing back down to Earth when the only thing that had exited her lips had been the same barbaric gibberish the other Terrans used. Mar-Vell was confused, a feeling that he had been having quite often as of late. He could have sworn he had heard something he could understand. Maybe it truly was a fluke.

Mar-Vell had just begun to settle back down dejectedly into his folded-up state when the female took a sudden step forward. And then another. And another. In only a moment, she was just in front of the glass, her breath creating small wet clouds that seemed to hang in mid-air. Her eyes were wide but seemed to hold a kind of knowing, almost as though she could understand what was going on far better than Mar-Vell could. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, and noticed her hand slowly approaching the glass in front of her. He threw himself forward desperately in an attempt to understand, ignoring the feeling of being shot coursing through the veins in his leg. Their faces were mere inches apart when the female's hand pressed against the glass. Mar-Vell glanced at his own hand briefly, and began to replicate the slowly ascension the female had done with her own hand. Their hands grew closer and closer.

…

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Carol was suddenly shocked back to awareness by a loud voice and two very large hands grabbing her shoulders to spin her around, almost making her fall in the process. Her wide eyes were captured by the currently-angry-yet-frightened steely blue eyes of Steve Rogers. Carol remained stock still and as stiff as a board as she pondered the same question.

_What the hell was that?_

Carol had been seemingly unable to control her own body. Her mind had screamed for her to stop moving towards the thing that was probably very hungry and wanted very much to kill and eat her, but her legs refused to listen. The fear and earnestness in its voice had caught her off guard, despite being completely ignorant as to what the hell the thing's Cthullu-speak could possibly mean.

Carol suddenly shook her head and wriggled free roughly from Steve's grip, pulling harshly at his fingers.

"Don't touch me."

Steve's oddly-fearful scowl only deepened at this, but Carol couldn't possibly give less of a damn. No one ever spoke to her that way or touched her in such a way. Not even the man of her dreams. Her reaction could also be attributed partially to the sudden aggression and power that had appeared during her little out-of-body stunt, but it didn't matter to Carol. All that mattered was shaking this feeling of…

_Connection._

She couldn't explain it. She didn't need to. It had been there, as obvious as the Sun is bright and Captain America is the greatest gift from God, tied with iTunes. It didn't make sense, and it didn't need to. Carol had felt it. The only question that she could ask her self was:

_What the ever-loving hell?_

Carol's slow return to full sanity had granted her the knowledge that every eye on the room was firmly planted on her. She knew she had a lot of explaining to do. But she couldn't do it. Not now. Maybe not ever. After a moment or so of simply standing still and sweating, Carol turned towards the door and hurried away.

"I need an Advil."

…

For the remainder of the day, which constituted of about 5 and a quarter hours, Carol attempted to ignore the odd looks she received from the assorted super-people she worked with. Agent Barton, who had been provided with living quarters within the tower in order for him to be able to successfully guard the alien, would often glance at her with suspicion and irritation as she strode by. Agent Drew, who had received the same accommodations, gave her an odd look of expectation, as if she expected Carol to burst out into song the second she glanced away.

"_**Carol Danvers: The Musical".** I'd see it on Broadway._

Steve's face was stern but slightly apologetic. Carol understood fully well that Steve had really meant her no harm in what he had done, but she would need to address it later. Fortunately, Dr. Banner was elsewhere doing science, so Carol would be spared another tired and sympathetic glimpse. The only person who seemed to be completely indifferent about the whole thing was Tony Stark, who continued on ordering Carol to do mundane or sometimes insane tasks, like fetching his coffee or stealing Tony's chauffeur's shoes (both of which had been major successes). Tony's playfully condescending tone and back-handed compliments were oddly welcome in comparison to the cold and pitying looks she received from the others. The end of Carol's day came rather swiftly in her mind, and she had been prepared to leave the moment the clock struck 6 o'clock.

But she had some business to take care of.

After locking and resisting the urge to spit on the door of her office, Carol hustled her way towards the main living room, her strides upbeat and chipper from the pre-emptive pep talk she had given herself. As she nearly skidded to a halt when she entered the vast room, her eyes scanned the room for her knight in red, white, and blue. Her eyes hesitated in respectful awe on the New York skyline in the sleek navy of the twilight. Towers were covered in vast spirals of light, signaling the rapidly approaching holiday season. Helicopters zoomed in and out of view, darting among the buildings like iron dragonflies. The red lights of vehicles ricocheted off of the windows of the tall proud buildings, giving the entire city a lovely contrast in coloration to the deep thick blue of the sky. Unfortunately, the symbol of America was not there to complete the image.

Carol turned to prop herself against one of the sleek leather couches, pondering to where he could have gone. She could check his room, but that would be weird/creepy-stalker-ish. She could check with Tony, but that would involve talking to him.

_Ew._

Suddenly, an intriguing thought passed through her head, and nearly caused Carol to smack herself in the forehead at how she had not considered this option sooner. Carol then stared up at the ceiling and called out.

"JARVIS?"

Sure enough, the electronic voice of the home spoke with a pungent formality.

"_Good evening, Mistress Danvers. Is there anything that I could assist you with?"_

Relishing the uber-sexy title she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of herself, Carol posed her question.

"Would you mind telling me where Steve Rogers is?"

There was a brief moment of silence as the AI searched the entirety of the building for its target. After a few seconds of quiet whirring and humming, Carol heard exactly what she wanted to here.

"_It would appear that Master Rogers can be currently found in the tower's private gymnasium."_

"Thank you, JARVIS."

Satisfied, Carol walked briskly towards the elevators and jammed her finger into the button, school-girlish glee bubbling in her throat. She would be able to see Steve in all of his sweaty yet regrettably stanky glory once again, hopefully under much better terms. The cheerful "ding" of the elevator could not have been more welcome as Carol slunk into its coldly-pleasing interior. A sunny grin warmed her face as she jabbed at the button labeled "284".

The grin on her face faltered as she felt something tug at her. It felt almost like a magnetic field, dragging her innards towards the source. Her body even began to lean slightly towards the elevator doors in an apparent attempt to join its attractant. It was that creature. She knew it was. Why was the question. Why her?

Carol's question remained unanswered as the elevator shot downwards, the force feeling less and less powerful as the distance increased. A few moments later the elevator doors shot open to reveal an area she had only seen once before. Carol steeped out into a landscape dotted with various weight machines, including leg presses, weight benches, treadmills, and elliptical machines. Carol knew that when the other employees were on break or had extended periods of time off, they could use the gym for free as often as they wanted. The smell of salt and body odor bit at Carol's nostrils as she proceeded through the area.

Carol's attention was suddenly caught by the sound of pounding. The sound would carry a sort of rhythm for a brief time, and then completely change after a short pause. Carol followed her ears towards the noise, her heels scuffing coarsely against the rubber flooring. As she grew closer to the source of the noise, Carol could hear occasional masculine grunts from whoever was pounding.

Carol wrinkled her nose on how utterly perverted that sounded.

After another moment or so of searching, Carol found the source of her search and the promiscuous pounding. Steve was once again dressed up in his workout-worst, a white undershirt and athletic shorts. He was apparently punching a large sandbag, something Carol had done in the Air Force training session, albeit horribly. Carol watched intently as she grew nearer and almost tripped several times on stray sandbags. Suddenly, with a powerful final blow and a primal yell, Steve blasted the sandbag from its iron holding, its 200-lbs. corpse flinging itself against a wall and ricocheting off in Carol' direction. A moment later, a new sandbag was expertly attatched to the remaining iron holdings, and the punching continued.

Despite her awe and her attempts to keep her panties up, Carol strode up directly behind Steve.

Her first mistake.

Carol then proceeded to tap the unsuspecting man on the shoulder.

Another huge mistake.

Startled , Steve spun about on his heel, aiming a fist directly in his supposed attacker's face. Carol yelped and flinched as the fist stopped inches from her face. After a moment of stunned silence on behalf of both parties, Steve turned around and placed his hands on the still swinging sandbag to still it.

"Need something, Carol?"

Suddenly recognizing that she was indeed being spoken to, Carol took a deep breath before responding.

"Hi, Mr. Rogers. Um…well, I was wondering if…" Carol wrung her hands and averted her eyes from his deliciously distracting back. "…If maybe we could start over."

Now it was Steve's turn to be stunned briefly silent.

"What?"

Steve turned back towards Carol, a hopeful yet incredulous look on his face.

Carol's face flushed as she started at her shoes and NOT AT STEVE'S ABS AND CHEST.

"Well…we kind of started out on the wrong foot initially and I was wondering if we could forget all of that and…you know…start over."

Silence.

_Sheyt, he's still mad. Maybe this wasn't a-."_

"I'd really like that."

Confused, Carol glanced upwards to see Steve's gorgeous face beaming one of his especially true smiles, his teeth purely white and his hair shining with sweat. Carol returned his smile after a brief time of "WHAAAAAT?" Steve extended his large bandaged hand and altered his voice into an almost aristocratic tone.

"How do you do, ma'am? My name is Steve Rogers. And yourself?"

Smiling, Carol responded in her best snooty-booty accent.

"I am Mistress Carol Danvers, my good man."

"Jolly good."

The pair shared a true smile, probably the truest smile Carol had ever exhibited. Steve continued, but in his usual tone of voice.

"Well, it's always nice to make a new friend."

Carol was caught off guard by this statement. Carol had never had many friends growing up, and had an enormously hard time making them. But something about Steve made her feel so at ease, so comfortable, that there was no way that she could NOT be friends with him.

It was a force, like the one she had felt earlier. She couldn't explain it, but it was there.

After Carol smiled and bid her new friend good night, she strode to the elevator, pressed the button, and immediately stepped in.

_Friends._

_I can do friends._


	10. Chapter 10: Going Down in History

**A/N: **** First off, I want to thank every one who is reading this for sticking with me for this long. It really means so much to me.**

**This chapter contains almost no plot. It is primarily for humor and back story purposes. I was really sick when I wrote this (sorry for the delay, by the way), so it is not my best work by far, even if it is freakishly long.**

**In this chapter, you will find: Panda Express, Trick Arrows, Subway, Lobster Quiche, Skank Suits, "Jingle Bell Rock", and a McDouble with Cheese, With Mustard And Pickles.**

**Wow. I must have been really hungry when I wrote this.**

**Remember, reviews are the greatest gift a write can give to another writer. Did you see something you liked? Did you see something you didn't like? Please send me a review or a PM and let me know!**

**Also, the poll on my profile page is drawing to a close, so if you haven't yet, please check it out and make your voice heard!**

**Happy Reading!**

**Note: I own no characters in this story, besides Jillian Caruso.**

It didn't take Carol long to realize that she was the assistant to Ms. Virginia Potts only in title. Outside of the occasional attended board meeting and filed paper, Carol rarely even saw her responsible employer. Instead, she was subjected to the constant demands of the other residents of Stark Tower's upper floors. Despite constant protests on Carol's part both external and internal that it was not true, one fact became readily apparent: Carol Jane Danvers had become the executive assistant to Earth's Mightiest Heroes, the Avengers.

Carol spent her days bustling about from super-human to super-human, fulfilling all sorts of odd and occasionally insane requests on behalf of her non-employers. Each one had their own preferences and quirks, making peaceful compromise nearly impossible and conflict inevitable. Carol was driven to the brink of insanity more than once, but the requests kept coming. Requests such as:

"Carol, can you fetch me something from Subway?"

"Carol, do you know anything about computers?"

"Carol, why isn't my lobster quiche ready yet?"

"Carol, can you hold my Trick Arrows for a few minutes? Just don't let them move too much, or they'll blow up."

"Carol, can you make sure my 'Aussie Girls Gone Wild' subscription is still current?"

"Carol, can you wash my gym clothes? I don't know how to work that darn washing-thing yet."

Carol had come to despise her own name rather quickly.

It was Friday, the crown jewel of the week. It was the day a working person could throw their hands in the air and say good-bye to their loser co-workers until the awkward Monday, but by that point everyone is still too exhausted to remember. Carol had never been one to commit such an act, because that would be (wait for it) rather unprofessional. However, she had also never been one to allow such a day formed from everything good and pure in existence to simply pass her by. So, with the last shreds of her sanity barely in tact, Carol began to pack her things for returning home for her carefully-planned evening.

It was 7 o'clock, an hour that had come painfully slowly, when Carol had finally finished packing her briefcase with the last of her belongings. It had been two whole work weeks since she had been assigned to the world's stuffiest office, which she had nicknamed rather appropriately "Satan's Crotch". Oddly enough, she had come to like the small, dark, soul-scorching-ly hot little room. It gave her a sense of normalcy and privacy, since the other people in the tower refused to enter.

Carol was practically beaming as she locked the door to her office for the final time that week and began her trek down the dark hallway that led into the main room of the floor. She brought a little bit of a swing to her hips as she strode into the living room and towards the elevator. Her spirits lifted even higher as she viewed her handiwork from the past week: Christmas lights of various sizes and colors provided the indoor landscape with a flash of vibrancy and hominess. Decorations were strewn about on the walls, the ceiling, the countertop of the bar, and almost everywhere else there was space. "Jingle Bell Rock", one of Carol's all-time favorite Christmas songs, was merrily playing from a small radio Carol had bought for that very purpose.

Carol had really outdone herself.

Speaking of home, the current residents of the tower's upper floors were, as usual, nowhere to be found, which in itself was no problem. Them being absent meant an absence of random chores, and Carol was planning on making her escape as quickly as possible before one of the super-needies inevitably appeared and needed _something_. Her sultry swagger quickened in pace as the slight patter of feet was suddenly audible, heralding a new presence just down the hall from her. After a few moments, the sound disappeared down the corridor. Carol exhaled and smirked at her apparent good fortune and continued her hip-swinging trek down the hall.

Suddenly, just as Carol turned a corner, the one man she hoped she didn't have to see that evening appeared in her vision. Tony Stark's posture was playful and proud as he suddenly clutched her wrist and spun her around. His voice was light and cheerful as he sang.

"Dance with me, Carol-!"

"Don't touch me, Mr. Stark!"

Carol barely broke stride as she continued for the door. She mimicked Tony's sing-song tone as she retorted. Tony had scared her three times already that day, and she had simply become accustomed to his predictability. The earlier drop from the ceiling had been impressive, but he was going to have to more than hide behind a corner to scare Mistress Carol Danvers.

Carol's speed increased ten-fold after she had recovered from being so lamely interrupted. The utter annoyance ringing in her ears must have drowned out the sound of scuffling feet behind her, because she failed to notice that Stark had followed her until her finger was poised to jam the elevator's "down" button. Before she could summon the stainless steel savior, Tony flung himself in between Carol's jab-ready index finger and her means of escape. He smirked triumphantly and received an exasperated glare in return. His voice dripped arrogance and promiscuity.

"Hey, Carrie! Where are you and your sweet ass goin'?"

Carol exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes slightly.

"That's absolutely none of your concern, sir. I would appreciate it if you respected my personal life, my personal space, and my _ass_, thank you." Carol's tone was sharp but as respectful towards the man who was currently violating every law of personal space ever created and borderline sexually-harassing her. "And if you must know, I'm going home to get some extra work done."

_Which is complete and total BS, by the way._

Carol pressed a palm firmly against Tony's ribs and attempted to shove him briskly from her escape route, but Mr. Stark wasn't quite finished.

"You know, you should leave the lying to professionals, like me, because it's my personal opinion that you suck at it." His smirk intensified, as did the bile rising in Carol's throat. "Seriously, spill or I'll have to take things to the next level here." His hand lifted from his side and rested on Carol's shoulder, causing her to shudder from absolute disgust. His eyes, though attempting to appear sensual, only succeeded in looking like the old pervert he was. "So what are you up to, midnight whoring?"

Just as Carol had seriously begun to consider pepper-spraying and then annihilating the testicles of the man who could get her fired at the drop of a hat, or in this case a drop of a foot on testicles, a presence outside of Carol's view suddenly grabbed Tony's attention. His creepy smirk morphed into the expression of a predator as he speedily shimmied his way out from in between Carol and took off after the person of interest.

"Hey, Stevio, where ya goin'? We gotta talk."

The very Steve Rogers-esque groan of exasperation brought a slight smile to Carol's face as she at long last was able to press the elevator button. The sleek metal lift arrived in a split second, and Carol was off to her place, ready for her evening of drunken revelry.

…

Natasha Romanoff stared blankly out the window of the small apartment. Small flecks of white danced and spiraled just past the thick pane of glass. The landscape of St. Petersburg, Russia was trapped in varying shades of grey, painted as such by the silvery winter sky. The streets were dark and vacant as Natasha's glare surveyed them, with only an occasional swirl of leaves or a renegade piece of garbage disturbing the frosty peace. Agent Romanoff concluded that her theory that Russia never changes was proven every time she ventured back into its borders.

A sudden scraping noise from the door caused the ginger assassin to whirl from her position at the window and arm herself in a defensive position, her shoulders hunched and her pistol drawn. The door opened after a tense few moments to reveal a heavily-dressed man laden with plastic bags. He turned towards the woman and his back stiffened at the sight of her gun trained on him. He raised his bag-burdened arms in surrender and began to speak in a slightly bemused but stern tone.

"Wow, Natasha. We've been living together for over a week and I still manage to frighten you."

At the sound of the man's thick southern African accent, Natasha lowered her weapon and rolled her eyes.

"It's not you that startles me, T'Challa. It's just…let's say I'm not very well-liked over here."

Agent Romanoff then strode over to her companion to assist him with carrying his many bags into the small dirty kitchen. The apartment wasn't exactly a 5-star location (Natasha had been shooting rats as they came out of the wall in order to pass them time), but it was the least conspicuous place for the pair to stay until Director Hill could get back in touch with them. After Agent T'Challa had brushed off the grime from an area on the small counter to place the bags, he proceeded to remove the excess clothing from his body. As more and more of her partner was revealed, Natasha internally kicked herself for not recognizing the legendary Black Panther. He was her senior by several years, but he had kept the same youthful appearance since the pair had first met almost 9 years before. He had the same dark skin and green eyes, the same jet-black hair (which Natasha found odd, since his hair was straight in contrast to the curly hair of the majority of his ethnic group), and the same ability to make Natasha feel small. After he had removed the last sweatshirt, he twisted to grab a single red-and-yellow paper bag and shook it. Natasha's nose wrinkled at the sight.

"McDonalds? Really, T'Challa? You know I don't eat that crap."

Her partner arched and eyebrow and smirked, revealing incredibly white and slightly pointed canines. He brought the bag closer to her face and shook it again, its greasy contents rustling tantalizingly.

"Oh really? It's a double, with cheese, pickles, and mustard, a combination I recall being your favorite at one point."

It was true. Natasha Romanoff had always possessed a weakness for greasy cheeseburgers. Perhaps it came from the fact that she had never tasted such a rich, delicious food until she had been an adult. Whatever the case, Natasha Romanoff would do almost anything to get her hands on a "McDonald's McDouble with cheese, hold the ketchup and onions". Despite her currently stoic countenance, the inside of her mouth began to fill with saliva at the heavenly aroma. It only took a moment for her desire for the godly food to overcome her, and she snatched the bag from T'Challa's hands. She scowled at the grin on her companion's face, but immediately dug into the bag to collect the deliciousness. As she tore open the paper, the Black Panther began to speak.

"I told you. And I do not just forget a lovely woman's preferences. It's a blessing and a curse." He received a greasy, mouth-filled glower but continued. "Point made. By the way, why are we still in St. Petersburg, anyway? There has not been a sighting in almost 5 days."

The purpose for the pair of ebony agents remaining in Russia was the fact that there had been several sightings of Kree individuals lurking throughout the city and its surrounding countryside. Granted, there had only been three sightings in total (one of which ending in a civilian gunning the creature down with a double barreled shotgun; sometimes, Natasha could really love the people of the Motherland), but Director Hill wasn't taking any chances. The creatures were dangerous, destructive, and most of all unpredictable, so it seemed best to keep tabs on any appearance they might make.

Natasha's made a wet and rather unattractive sound as she swallowed.

"We can't take any chances. Any little blip the Kree radar is to be treated as a matter of international security. Also, you of all people should know it's not a good idea to go against one of Director Hill's orders, since you just got off of probation and all."

T'Challa scoffed before retorting.

"That woman may be my superior, but she does not scare me. The Kree threat is all but gone from here, Natasha, and I am pretty sure the people can handle one or two if they appear."

Natasha narrowed her eyes. Despite being her senior, T'Challa had always possessed an ability to be immature and foolhardy that had almost botched several missions he had been on. The vast majority of the almost-botched missions had been successes thanks to T'Challa's quick thinking, but one in particular, on which Natasha had been his partner, had gone horribly wrong and had resulted in the pair getting torn new ones by Director Fury. After that, the pair had been teamed up together a number of times, him acting as her almost mentor until Clint Barton, her rescuer from Russia, had been established as her primary partner.

"But what if a whole team appears and the city is lost? Think, T'Challa, think before you speak."

"It's also obvious that you want to leave."

Natasha stiffened slightly. Was she that easy to read?

"I told you, I know you, Natasha. You're predictable and pretty easy for me to read. You wanted to go with that box back to America. Why didn't you?"

Thoroughly pissed off now, Natasha bit back her face venomous and her voice frosty.

"Yes, I wanted to go. But Hill called and told me to stay, that Agents Barton and Drew would handle it and everything would be taken care of."

The Black Panther pondered for a moment, allowing for the Black Widow to continue tearing into her burger, before he asked.

"So, how is Agent Barton? Is he enjoying his new partner?"

Natasha's head snapped in his direction and glared furiously, blood unconsciously rushing to her face.

_No. No he's not. He will never like having her as a partner. EVER._

Before Natasha could even speak, T'Challa snapped his fingers and grinned.

"So, I'm guessing that you want to go see Agent Barton. That's why you wanted to leave."

Fury boiled with Natasha for the accusation, but her voice remained scarily calm.

"If you're assuming that there is something going on between Barton and me, you are an imbecile. When I start a mission, I make it a point to finish and make sure it's finished right. This mission just so happens to lead to Barton and Drew."

T'Challa placed his hands in the air before grinning and shaking his head.

"I am not assuming anything. You virtually just told me, but that no longer matters. What does matter is that you are leaving for America and the fair Agent Barton as soon as it is possible."

Natasha's biting quip died on her tongue as shock filled her mind and slightly softened her expression.

"Excuse me?"

"You are leaving to 'finish your mission' as soon as we can get you on a plane. I can stay here and make sure everything goes well."

At that moment, Agent T'Challa was gifted with an opportunity to see Natasha Romanoff, the feared Black Widow, gape. She had no idea how to respond to this. He had just returned her verbal abuse with an amazing gift of mercy. After a second or so of silence, Natasha regained her composure and spoke with a slight shake in her voice.

"Thank you, but no. This is my mission more so than yours, and I can't just abandon this. The mission always comes first."

But T'Challa was not taking no for an answer in this situation.

"Well then, as your senior agent, I am hereby reassigning you. I will fill out the paperwork myself if I need to, but you are going, that's an order. And if Hill calls, I'll tell her you're still here."

"Why are you doing this, T'Challa?"

"Because it pains me to see you in such a 'funk' as you say. Besides, who am I to stand in the way of love?" T'Challa flourished his hands and received a dark glare from Natasha. "Ahem…I mean, the mission of the century."

Natasha sighed. "Thank you again, but I can't. Hill said no."

"You're right, you're right. I guess she can just order you around without any consideration for your desires. Fury didn't do that. You were one of the best agents in all of SHIELD."

"Still am."

T'Challa grinned again. "Are you sure about that? Because if I were one of the best agents in all of SHIELD, I would not let myself be ordered around by a SHIELD Academy brown-noser with a clipboard and a scary voice."

"Neither would I."

"Then why are you?"

Natasha remained still for a few moments, a thick silence lingering in the air, before quickly whirling around and taking several confident strides towards her bedroom.

"Get my satchel, will you? I need to call ahead and get my ticket. I have a plane to catch."

…

Carol could not remember a time when she had needed to wear this much make-up before. Several palettes containing hundreds of shades of eye-shadow, lipstick, blush, and many different kinds of make-up in shades ranging from the extra-whorish "Kiss My Ass Crimson" to the safer "Maybe Some Other Time, I Have Bible Study in 15 Minutes Peach".

As she picked up the first brush and lightly swept its bristles against the first facial masking material, a slightly copper bronzer, Carol reflected upon what had brought her to this new point in her life. She had received the call three days before on Tuesday evening. Of course, evening was an understatement, being that her phone had started ringing at 1:53 AM. Carol had barely understood the frantic voice of her asshole-of-a caller.

"Ohmigod, Carrie. You. Me. Hittin' the clubs. Friday night."

Carol had simply sighed, not fully understanding the lightning-fast garble the feminine voice had used.

"H-hello? Who is this? Is this Jillian?"

"C'mon , girl! We're young! We're hot! And you've got money! Let's tear some shit up this weekend!"

The ex-sleeper groaned and turned over in her bed in a futile attempt to return to slumber and to dispel the ringing in her ears caused by the shrieking tone. Carol Danvers and Jillian Caruso had been best friends back home in Boston since grade school, and Carol knew fully well that her friend had always been a major money-spender, especially with Carol's money.

"Jillian, you know I'm not a clubbing kind of girl. And I do have money. Money that I'm saving up for a better apartment, by the way."

"Eh, apartment shmapartment. We're going out on Friday. It's happenin', Blondie. I've got your clothes and everything waiting in your mailbox. See ya then, bitch."

With that final derogatory pet name, Jillian's annoying falsetto was cut off, leaving Carol with much to say and only a dull robotic hum as a reply.

Back in the present time, Carol felt as though she was selling herself out. She was a good girl: smart, polite, church-going Christian, conservative with her money and her body. She was no harlot. But here she was, turning herself into the likeness of a common street walker. She walked herself through what she needed to do.

_Step 1: Whore Face._

_Blush, lipstick, eye shadow, eyeliner, bronzer, and…fake eyelashes?_

_Oh hell-to-the-no on that one._

_My eyelashes already kick ass on their own. _

_My lips look like a just drank a person's blood._

_My cheeks are so pink it looks like I got bitch-slapped by the Good Witch of the North._

_I'm orange. Screw bronzer._

Fully caked with powders and sticks of all colors and shades, it was time for the second horrendous act of Carol's weekend.

_Ok, Step Two: Whore Body_

The first article of clothing that Carol picked up was a red strip of cloth that had obviously been ripped. It seemed to have a strange excuse for a strap.

_Oh no. No no no. That's…for a monkey._

BUT, Jillian was in charge of Carol's clothing for the evening, and she'd probably literally rip the shirt from Carol's back if she showed up wearing anything different. So, Carol put on her big-girl panties (quite literally, she pulled on a pair of pink, lacy underwear that Jillian had also provided), slipped herself from her strapped bra and slipped on the strapless one Jillian had ALSO provided, and pulled the incredibly revealing strip of clothing over head and over her breasts.

The next piece of clothing was a pair of black leather shorts. As Carol swallowed her morals and heaved the shorts, it was revealed that the cow-hide pants barely came past the halfway point of her thighs.

_Yep. Now I look like a dominatrix. Great. _

The last thing Jillian had provided was a pair of jet-black heels, the spikes almost as tall as some of the small buildings in the city. The total look screamed "whore", "harlot", and many other derogatory terms for bitch, but Carol didn't care. She felt powerful and strong, like nothing could tear her down in her new attire.

Carol had never felt so alive.

…

The heavy bass vibrated rhythmically and powerfully in Steve Roger's ears as he and his smirking companion were ushered through the doors of "Electric Symphony". "Electric Symphony" stood in all of its neon glory as one of the most popular night clubs in all of New York, with the best DJs, the widest selection of alcoholic beverages, and the most celebrity appearances in the entire city. Sweaty, fevered bodies collided against each other everywhere Steve looked, and tipsy individuals in booths along the walls whooped and hollered at each other's less-than-wholesome jokes.

In short, it was not the sort of place the great Captain America would have been at any point in time under his own power.

However, Tony Stark had always been a rather persuasive man.

The conversation had begun 3 hours earlier back in Stark Tower as Steve had been heading to his room to bed down for the night. The genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and annoying jackass Tony Stark had thrown himself in the doorway of Steve's room, receiving an eye-roll.

"Hey, Steve. We should go out tonight."

The symbol of America simply grunted and placed a hand firmly on Stark's shoulder in an attempt to dislodge him from the doorway. However, Tony refused to budge, and Steve really didn't really want to hurt the man who had given him a place to live.

"Tony, we've been over this quite a few times. I don't agree with a lot of the things you do on a regular basis, and I'm pretty sure that whatever you're going to do tonight will be going against my moral values. So, no, I will not be doing any "going out" with you tonight, for the umpteenth time. So if you don't mind…" Steve shoved Tony's shoulder a second time a bit more firmly, but Tony refused to give an inch.

"C'mon, Captain Chastity. We really need to get you out of your comfort zone."

"My comfort zone is fine for me, thank you."

It was Stark's turn to roll his eyes. "Exactly. And your comfort zone is making you miserable. I mean, do you enjoy this constant routine of 'wake up, work out, ogle Carol, and go to bed'?"

The good Captain scoffed indignantly. "I do not ogle Carol! And I actually enjoy routine. It makes me feel secure."

"First off, lies. Your eyes have been on her ass more than mine have, and that's saying something. Look," Tony said as he adopted a slightly sympathetic expression and tone, "I know that you've been through a lot in the past couple of years, with the whole 'waking up to find everyone you knew and loved died' thing. I really think that going out and having fun could really improve your outlook on life a bit."

"My outlook on life is fine, thank you."

Stark's expression of sympathy swiftly tightened into one of desperation.

"Please will you go? Please please _please!?_ Pepper says I can't go unless I have a chaperone! And the only one Pepper really trusts here is you! PLEASE GO WITH ME!"

Tony began to slump in the doorway as Steve snorted with pride at his successful deduction of the complete and total bull crap that Stark had tried to feed him, despite Stark's horrid delivery and lack of patience helping him along. Tony DID have a point, however. Pepper had told Steve that she trusted him to take care of Tony when she couldn't. Tony also had the maturity and foresight of a horny teenaged boy, so him being anywhere in public by himself was sure to have consequences that could easily be described as cataclysmic. Steve's body filled with heat as his mind conflicted upon itself before finally coming to a damning conclusion.

"Fine, I'll go. But this is the first and last time, got it?"

In the present, Steve was currently regretting almost every word that had spilled from his mouth, except for the "last time" bit at the end. Tony had immediately pounced on him, flinging several pieces of "appropriate attire" at him and telling him to get changed. Now he stood in a pair of jeans, a leather jacket, and a black t-shirt of Tony's that was several sizes too small. He felt like a freak among freakier freaks. He felt so alone, nervous, ashamed, and excited all at the same time, and he didn't really enjoy the feeling Steve hunched his shoulders and turned, hoping to make a speedy escape before Tony could notice, when a hand pounded him on the back. Steve's head swiveled to allow him to glare at the jackass who had manipulated him, but Stark paid him no heed as he surveyed the crowd with a smirk.

"Great turn-out tonight, ay Cap? Lots'a pretty little girl to dance with, yeah?"

Steve rolled his eyes and folded his arms to speak, but his voice came out as a nervous almost squeak.

"I wouldn't call this dancing exactly, rather than just sharing sweat and genitals."

Stark made a face. "Well, Scrooge, let's not ruin the fun for everyone else, okay?" Suddenly, Tony's hands began to flap frantically as something caught his attention. "There's a real hottie over there! You should go chat her up."

Steve's face blanched at the suggestion, his hands becoming clammy and his fingers shaking slightly.

"Tony, you know I'm not good in crowded places, especially when there are," he swallowed, "young women involved."

Tony put his hand to his chin in thought for a moment before comically snapping his fingers with an idea and turning to his companion.

"What you need is an icebreaker, something to loosen the tension in the situation. I happen to know one that's a real lady-killer."

Tony looked to Steve for a response, but he remained stock-still, so Tony continued.

"Repeat after me: 'are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only ten I see.' It's fool-proof, I promise."

Steve completely missed the devious grin on Stark's face as a scowl developed on his face.

"'Tennessee, ten I see'? That's sounds stupid! Even I can tell that one won't work!"

Stark shrugged, the velvet of his suit wrinkling slightly. "Well, it's your loss. You never know if you don't try."

Steve's eyes rolled as he desperately attempted to fish up another excuse from the depths of his mind. He knew, and his companion knew, that his defenses were wearing thin.

"Besides, I highly doubt anyone in a place of this caliber would be anywhere near my type. So, I guess we'll never know."

Ever up for a challenge, Tony's eyes went from lazily drooping to scrutinizing the crowd with a hawk-like proficiency.

"What about that one?" He jabbed a finger at a dark haired girl laughing at a table.

"That girl has so much ink on her body that she could supply the world with pens for all eternity."

"That one? She's a really cutie."

"You mean the one with her tongue down that man's throat?"

"Umm…hm… that little hottie?" Tony indicated a tall, pale girl with a jet-black braid and a short skirt."

Steve cocked his head to the side, quickly becoming irritated by this guessing game.

"Yes, she's very pretty, but not really my kind of girl."

"Okay, I know you'll like that one."

"I'm pretty sure that's a man, Tony."

Stark's brow furrowed in frustration as he shook his head and raised his hands.

"Picky, picky, picky! No wonder you never get any dates."

Steve's eyes blankly scanned the crowd a final time, fully prepared to shut Tony up once and for all.

And then he saw her.

She was a vision of blonde hair, bronze skin, and twisting limbs in a scarlet strip of cloth and a pair of incredibly sexy leather shorts. Sweat shot off of her as her body moved with the music. Her hips swung smoothly, showing off her oh-so-sexy waistline and legs. Steve's mouth was suddenly dry as he gave a chin-dropped smile for the exquisite creature.

"I like her."

Tony's eyes ricocheted from the ass of one of the many lovely dancers to the area where Steve was smiling rather perv-like.

"Who?"

Steve's finger extended and pointed directly at this one girl in the crowd. There was no mistaking it.

"You mean that flurry ball of blonde dancing like she's high?"

It was true. The girl Steve was apparently drooling over was flailing her limbs about like an epileptic spider-monkey. Her hair was a massive blonde fur ball that bobbed about as she moved. Her body was slicked with gross sweat that splattered off in all directions, much to the disgust of the many people around her. Even the tall, pale girl with the black braid, who seemed to be her friend, was giving her a pained smile and dancing awkwardly next to her rabidly gyrating friend. It was almost painful to watch. Tony's incredulous gaze moved to Steve's dreamy gape and witnessed the super soldier nod lamely. After a few moments, Steve took a step forward towards the girl. Tony swiftly grabbed a hold of Steve's elbow in an attempt to halt the social suicide, but he was shrugged away. Tony's cringe grew larger and larger as Steve grew nearer to the flailing mass, until his voice could be heard over the music.

"ARE YOU FROM TENNESSEE? 'CAUSE YOU'RE THE ONLY TEN-I-SEE!"

What happened next would go down in Avengers history.

…

Carol had been tugging at her shorts in an attempt to save as much of her body from public scrutiny as possible when she and Jillian first entered "Electric Symphony. The dark haired half of the not-so-dynamic duo had gone for an even more-revealing approach with her 3-inch-long miniskirt and a v-neck blouse, which made Carol like more of a skank and less of one at the same time. Jillian Caruso was practically beaming and Carol Danvers was almost crying at the sight: the entire building was pulsing with people, music, and neon light.

The earth-shattering bass thumped rhythmically against Carol's ear drums, causing her bracelets to vibrate almost as quickly as her heart was beating. She couldn't believe how nervous and uneasy she felt about the whole evening. They were just dancing, right? Despite her desperate pleas with her mind, it refused to allow Carol to have any semblance of fun in this sort of place. Its idea of fun was playing paper basketball and surfing _Pinterest_ for hours at a time. It was the mind of a good girl. And right now it was starting to really suck.

Jillian seemed to sense Carol's apprehension as they strode through the doors (Jillian apparently "knew somebody"), and she proceeded to confront her quivering companion in the most intimate yell she could muster.

"HEY! WHAT'S YOUR BEEF!? YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE HAVING FUN!"

After Carol recovered from the suddenly-doubled audio blitzkrieg against her ear drums, she attempted to respond in as civilized a manner as she could find within her.

_Hm…let's see: I'm standing here freezing my ass off in a slut suit in a place that smells like scotch and STDs. I know you're not very smart, but do the math, sweetie._

"I…I DON'T THINK I'M REALLY CUT OUT FOR THIS WHOLE CLUBBING THING! WHY DON'T WE JUST GO GRAB SOMETHING FROM PANDA EXPRESS AND CALL IT A NIGHT!?"

That phrase seemed to greatly anger Jillian, as she grabbed Carol's elbow and dragged her into a somewhat-quieter (keyword: _somewhat_) corner, a stern look upon her face as she spun Carol to face her and growled.

"Look, I know this really isn't your "thing" (_really mature, Jil, air quotes_), but this is your one night to cut loose and have your fun. I've seen your bitch-fits about your job on Facebook, and I think you really need this. This is for your own good, Carrie." Her face softened considerably as she continued. "C'mon, girl. It's time to dig up Crazy Carrie from college and just tear some shit up tonight."

For some inexplicable reason known only to the female mind, this litter "pep talk" bolstered Carol's confidence in the situation. Still, she wasn't quite sure.

"I…I don't know, Jillian. It's just feels sorta wrong."

Carol didn't like Jillian's smile of pure evil just then.

"I think I know just the way to change that."

Jillian then spun on her heel (an impressive feat, given that her heels were strapped in 3-inch stilettos) and strode towards the bar, an increasingly unsure Carol close behind. Just as she reached the bar, the dark-haired young lady stuck her fingers in her mouth and let fly a powerfully piercing whistle so loud that it garnered attention across the club. She offered the suddenly alert bartender three fingers and an irritated look, causing the man to hurriedly begin mixing several forms of alcohol. After a moment or so of frantic shaking and pouring, the man gave Jillian her ordered beverage and a panicked smile. Jillian about-faced and came back to her questioning companion. Before Carol could utter a word, Jillian spoke in a clipped tone.

"He's an ex-boyfriend I could easily blackmail." She smiled again and brought the drink into Carol's view. It was tall and clear, with a small pink umbrella in the top. "Carrie, have you ever tried this?"

"What is it?" Carol sniffed the suspicious liquid, and the fluid burned her nose.

"It's a mixture of Sprite, vodka, mineral water, and a shit-ton of whiskey. I like to call it 'Good Girl's Inhibitions'." She placed the glass into Carol's unwanting hands. "Now drink up. It's going to be a long night."

After a moment of hesitation, Carol brought the frosty glass to her lips and downed the drink, the alcohol burning her throat and stomach.

Jillian's smile grew more and more sinister as she turned around and threw the sheepish man another three-fingered salute. It really was going to be a along night.

Jillian had expected Carol to let go a little bit and let her hair down after a couple of her signature drinks, and maybe they would cause her to get a little buzz.

It was a true pity that she had neglected to recall Carol's alcohol-containment-capacity as being ranked as "super-puss lightweight" back at school. It took only three drinks for Carol's inhibitions, balance, and most of her other senses to be blown right out of her ass. Currently, the pair was sitting in two small leather chairs along the back wall of the club. Jillian's face was smiling with a twinge of pain at her friend's unruly behavior as she sipped on her Pink Bikini. In short, Jillian Caruso looked like the kind of girl who knew her way around a club scene and a bar. Carol, on the other hand, was laughing hysterically, her eye make-up dripping down her face and her hair frizzed in all directions. She brought her fifth "Good Girl's Inhibitions" to her lips to chug between fits of laughter, rivers of alcohol streaming down her chin and on to her top. It was a truly embarrassing sight. Even Carol's thought processes were jumbled messes.

_LikE OHMiGaWD, I ReaLLY ShoUlDn'T hAvE Had ThAt LASt dRInk, BuT IT WaS SOoOoOoO GoOd. I dOn'T eVeN kNoW wHaT tHe HeLl Is So FuNnY, bUt I'm LaUgHiNg OhMiGaWd._

Unable to witness any more and hoping to atone for her lack of foresight, Jillian placed a hand on her friend's knee and spoke in an almost maternal tone.

"Carrie? Umm… I think it's time we got you home. Maybe we can go grab something from Panda Express like you said earlier, okay?"

Unfortunately, Carol's laughter doubled in intensity as she slammed her glass down on the table.

"F-fuck pandassss…I'm having, _hic,_ so much fu-fu-funnn…"

Jillian's hand recoiled quickly to avoid Carol's slapping hand as she was overcome with a drunken idea.

"You…you know what we should do? We should…we should go dance! Yeah! Dance!"

Before Jillian could do anything to stop her friend, Carol was gone, flinging herself into the mass of gyrating bodies. Carol couldn't have cared less about the many people she slammed into on her trek to find the perfect dancing spot. Jillian followed closely behind in order to make sure her uncannily beleaguered friend did not pose any major threat to herself or others. It was an interesting role reversal.

Carol began flailing at 1:35, and was still doing so at 2:12, much to Jillian's impression and horror. Her arms and legs flapped about in random directions, slicking her body with bitter sweat of almost straight alcohol and showering it upon those unlucky enough to be within five feet of her. Her hair tangled upon itself like a lion's mane. It was painful to watch, but Jillian did not have the heart (or simply possessed the sadism) to stop her friend before a large blonde man began to stride his way over to her. Despite the man's drop-dead gorgeous looks, there was no way that she was going to let her friend get picked up in such a state. Jillian was just reaching into her purse for her can of Mace when the man began to speak.

"ARE YOU FROM TENNESSEE? BECAUSE YOU'RE THE ONLY TEN-I-SEE!"

Jillian could have pissed herself laughing, had it not been for the complete and total earnestness in the man's voice.

Carol didn't to hear the man for a moment before whirling around to stop, her face in the exact opposite direction from where the man was standing. She spoke, her mind throwing together something that sounded remotely intelligent.

"IS…IS THAT PIECE OF CHEESY SHIT LINE THE BEST YOU GOT? YOU MUST BE OUTTA YOUR DAMN MIND IF YOU THINK-."

Carol turned around to face the ass-wagon.

It is said that Carol Danvers set a world record for sobering up in the least amount of time at that moment, but this statement was never proven. Regardless, every ounce of liquor drained from Carol's burning blood as she began to speak, her voice a barely audible hoarse whisper.

"St-Steve? What…what are you doing here?"

_Seriously, is this man freaking everywhere?_

Steve seemed to choose the easier option of not responding, something that Carol became quickly thankful for. The pair simply stared at each other in disbelief: him disbelieving that the vivacious and gorgeous girl he had seen was the same girl he saw every day who wore a suit and a poker face every day to work, and her disbelieving that the perfect symbol of American purity would be in a place like _this_ wearing _that. _The silent staring contact swiftly began to degrade from enormously awkward to downright creepy as the minutes drew on. Suddenly, as if by some unspoken mutual agreement, the pair both about-faced and began marching back towards their respective sides of the club, neither uttering a word and their faces drawn into wide-eyed grimaces.

…

The look on Steve's face immediately tipped Tony off that things had not gone very well, as he had expected. When Steve blew right passed him and his smirk to grab his jacket, Tony rushed over and began questioning.

"So, how did it go?"

Steve's expression never changed as he turned abruptly to face Tony and uttered between his teeth.

"Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous." Steve then bolted for the door.

…

Jillian was still at a loss as to what the ever-loving hell had just happened. Carol had been merrily flopping about when the man had come up to her, and now after some cheesy pick-up line, Carol was grabbing her purse and heading towards the door. Jillian was almost forced to run (which would have been nearly impossible in her shoes) after her friend in order to get some answers.

"Carol! What the hell just happened? Are you okay?"

Carol simply paused and spoke only three words, her voice strained from her taut facial expression.

"Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous." Carol then wasted not time in marching her way towards the front of the club.

…

The pair arrived at the front of the club, their confused comrades in tow, at relatively the same time. For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the overpowering sound of the rest of the club. Steve reached for the door handle and pushed the glass construct open, extending his arm to hold it steady. His voice was the same as during his words with Tony as he spoke.

"Ladies first."

Carol's response was in the exact tone as before.

"Thank you."

She then hurried out into the night, her completely lost accomplice hot on her heels.

"Where are we off to now, Carrie? Home, I hope?"

Carol shook her head.

"Nope. Panda Express. I'm going to need some comfort foot after this."


	11. Chapter 11: Anything Could Happen

**A/N:**** Oh Lord, this chapter took a while. I apologize profusely for making all of my readers wait so long, but real life reared its ugly head in my world and dragged me away. That, on top of constant revisions and starting-over sessions, really pushed forward my publishing date.**

**In this chapter, you will find: a dancing queen, a knowledgeable elevator, a hand burning session, Jesus's nipple, hot tea, sketchy eyes, family angst, and a brand new villain.**

**Remember, reviews are the greatest gift a writer can give to another writer. Did you see something you liked? Did you see something you didn't like? Please send me a review and let me know!**

**Thanks to an amazing PM-er _BrownEyedGirl,_ this chapter is entitled with the same name as Carol's theme, "Anything Could Happen" by Ellie Goulding.**

**Lastly, some of you might notice that I allude to three more comicverse characters in this story, one of which you will be seeing a lot more of in the future. Just letting you know.**

**Happy Reading!**

**Note: I own no characters in this story.**

Carol could honestly say that she had never faced a more awkward Monday. Her face had remained a flushed pink since she had entered the saving grace of Panda Express until she walked in the front door of Stark Tower the following Monday. Her arms had begun to quiver slightly on the train there as her mind filled with all the possibilities. She could practically see the disgusting smirk on Mr. Stark's stubbly face, and the comments that would come after:

"Ah, there's the little tramp."

"What's wrong? Did ya pull a muscle popping and locking?"

"_Carrie's the dancing queen! Only sevent…or however the hell old you are!"_

She had groaned audibly, disturbing a young couple exchanging saliva in the next seat over. Awkward: 2, Carol: Zip.

She kept her head down for rest of the way. Carol made no eye contact with anyone on the street as she trudged her way through the crisp January-gripped street to the Tower. The swinging of the doors, the chatter or footsteps of her co-workers, and the cheerful electronic sounds of the elevators fell upon deaf ears as she bustled to work, hot blood roaring in her ears.

_THEY ALL KNOW. Every. Last. One._

_Even the elevator._

Carol bolted into her workplace as quickly as she could, praying that none of the others would be there at the time. Her quick eye-sweep of the room fortunately proved this to be the case, and she wasted no time in speed-walking towards Ms. Potts' office to figure out what, if anything, her employers had for her to do. She internally begged the universe that the currently-vacationing Ms. Potts had left her something, _anything_, to save her from the onslaught the super-needies would inevitably bring down upon her. As she reached for the door, however, she was puzzled to hear to pair of voices speaking on the other side of the milky glass door. The first voice was obviously a man's, deep yet taught. The second was also a male, but it was far calmer, bordering even on arrogant.

"B-but…Mr. Stark, I-!"

"No. I'm done with this conversation. Get out."

There was a brief pause, and Carol's hand slowly drooped to her side.

"What's wrong with my idea? I-I mean, you even said that it was-!"

"Are you deaf, Mr. Lang? I said get out. Your idea…it's stupid and pointless, and I pity you for wasting all those years of your pathetic life on this 'invention.'"

Carol's brows furrowed as sympathy filled her like water, and the man's voice broke as he pleaded.

"Please, Mr. Stark! Without this, I'll have nothing! I have a ten-year-old little girl and this is all we have! I-I'll lose her too!"

"Well then, you should have spent your time trying to find a job instead of on this piece of _shit_."

There was a gasp as metal struck the ground.

"Now. Out."

Carol's heart filled with a combination of crippling sympathy and flaring anger as the conversation ended.

"I…I understand, Mr. S-Stark. Thank you for your t-time."

The door suddenly swung open, missing Carol's nose by a fraction of a centimeter. A tall, red-haired man straggled out the door, his brimming eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped. A small metal device was cradled in his arms as he passed Carol and headed towards the elevator. It broke Carol's heart to see anyone in that state, but she couldn't show it. Compassion is rather unprofessional.

She wasn't sure if Mr. Stark had seen her in the half-second the door had been opened, but even if he had, she was not going to be venturing anywhere near that callous pig anytime soon. A fiery rage burned in her chest and caused her blood to heat up as she scowled. No one had the right to speak to anyone that way. Carol promptly spun on her heel to stomp her way towards her office. If Ms. Potts' substitute needed something, he'd have to do it himself today.

Carol's furious journey to Satan's Crotch felt long and incredibly lonely, as there were almost no sounds to be heard or people to be seen anywhere on this floor. She had initially been surprised that the Avengers had not been as "buddy-buddy" as they portrayed themselves to be in the media, but it made sense to a degree. Each one of the super-people had different likes, dislikes, quirks, and pet peeves that almost always seemed to be fulfilled by one of their cohorts. A few of them got along well enough, but they all kept to themselves mostly. Of course, Carol couldn't complain, as the social ineptitude among the tower's upper floors' residents meant that none of them could gang up on her when they wanted something (i.e. holding Trick Arrows _while_ surfing an Australian porn site for two of her non-employers).

Just as Carol passed the main living area, the sharp _clack-_ing of her shoes silenced as she stopped to ponder.

_Wait. Where does everybody __**go**__? _Carol's eyes scanned the room in its entirety as her anger began to shift into a simmering irritation, but found no trace that anyone had been there at any point during the day. _It's not like any of them have booming social lives._

"_Well, to be fair, neither do you, Carol."_

_Shut up, truth. Your opinion is insignificant. _

Carol visually swept the room a second time. She had never known Steve to ever leave the tower willingly (she found it safe to assume that going clubbing was NOT his idea), so his absence was curious. The two S.H.I.E.L.D agents, Barton and Drew she believed, had all but vanished from the tower and Carol's field of perception since the alien fiasco two weeks before. Dr. Banner didn't really like the type to be a social butterfly, given the fact that he could turn into a big green ball of whoop-ass at the drop of a hat. Mr. Stark was, well, Mr. Stark. Ms. Potts was understandably absent, being that she was still with her family for holiday.

Regardless of the reason, the utter lack of civilized human presence made Carol feel a little small and a tad lonely. It was a welcome distraction from the searing anger she had felt only moments before, but it was still an unpleasant feeling. She quickened her pace unconsciously and reached Satan's Crotch in record time. The often-catching thick wooden door was no match for Carol's superior pulling strength, and she quickly began the process of getting ready for her day:

This seemed to involve sitting at her desk and doing nothing.

Carol found her self staring blankly at the door knob of her office, its faux-gold handle glinting in the thick orange light. It was seriously the most interesting place in the entire room at that given moment. The words barely wafted from her drooping mouth, all traces of anger forgotten.

"Oh my _Gawd_-uh."

Her eyes flicked to her watch. It read 9:21. She had been sitting in this God-awful office for almost two-and-a-half hours. She placed her elbow on her desk and her chin on her upturned palm to think.

"There's no way I'm just going to sit here for the rest of the day." She glanced at her watch again, her horrible short-memory and her utter lack of patience forming the ultimate tag-team. "Hmm…nowhere near lunchtime yet…maybe I'll take my brunch break." She turned her eyes upwards and smiled. "What do you think, Crotch-y? Are you ready to be rid of me for a little while like I am of you?" After a brief pause, Carol's smile grew slightly. "Aw, I knew you'd agree."

There was a pause. Carol's brow furrowed.

"And…I'm talking to Satan's Crotch." It was true. The office really_ had _made her crazy.

Just as Carol had risen from her seat, a familiar voice suddenly called to her from the ceiling.

"_Mistress Danvers?"_

After she had shaken off the shock of once again being summoned unexpectedly by a talking house, Carol sighed and responded.

"Yes, JARVIS?"

"_Master Stark wishes to speak to you in his laboratory as promptly as possible. Shall I tell him that you are on your way?"_

A wave of renewed anger suddenly washed over Carol's mind, and she was tempted to tell JARVIS to tell Mr. Stark to fuck the _hell_ off (which would have sounded hilarious thanks to JARVIS's delightfully English accent). However, Carol Danvers had never been one to shirk away from her problems, so she snorted through her nose and responded.

"Yes please. Thank you."

A few moments later, the assistance-less assistant was standing on the stairs leading to the Stark-Lab. She attempted to form some sort of intelligent way to bring the subject up, but the only thoughts rolling through her mind were those of strangling the man and placing his corpse in one of his discarded suits. No one would ever know. Unfortunately for Carol, that sort of action was frowned upon in this establishment as far as she knew. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and stepped down to the first step.

And tragically missed the ledge and was almost sent careening down the stairs.

Rather unprofessionally.

Carol awkwardly deployed her most effective defensive maneuver and stuck her arms out like a starfish to catch herself. Her efforts were almost fruitless as her weight nearly sent her all the way down, but her grasping hand was greeted by the sleek feeling of the handrail. The entire event took only thirty seconds, but counted as the most exciting thing that had happened to Carol in almost a week.

The blonde arrived at the doors to the Stark-Lab a moment later. She peered through the glass door and noted that the large glass box was still present, albeit being covered by a black cloth, and she got an uneasy feeling the longer she stared at it. Shaking her head, Carol promptly knocked three times on the thick-paned glass. The window-like door slid upon, and unleashed upon Carol one of the loudest sounds she had ever heard. A hurricane of blaring rock music forced Carol to slam her eyes shut and grit her teeth. Her head swam as her brain frantically attempted to shield itself from the audio assault. Her eyes pried themselves open in a frantic attempt to discern the location of the noise's source and a way to turn it off before her head popped like a big blonde balloon.

After a moment or so of occasional eye-opening, Carol noticed the focus of her rage sitting with her back to her at a large stainless steel table. Sparks shot in all directions from a point on a massive steel behemoth lying back-down on the table. He had apparently not yet noticed Carol's presence as she inched closer and closer under the weight of the musical blitzkrieg. Suddenly, the fantasies of murdering the unsuspecting Stark came rushing back to Carol. It would be so easy. She could almost reach out and strangle him if she could peel her hands from her ears.

Just as Carol came within throttling range, Tony's left hand shot up from its workplace wielding a remote. He pressed a small red button with his thumb, and the music vanished, its powerfully ripping guitars and heavy bass still ringing in Carol's ears. Carol shook her head and began her customary greetings.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark, now what can I help-" she began, but faltered slightly as the recipient turned around, "…you…with…" The man now looking at her was doing so through a pair of large bright blue goggles that resembled the eyes of an enormous fruit fly.

_Well, he is a blood-sucking little pest._

Carol's confident and irritated tone petered out as her companion's expression remained grim and stoic. She had been expecting a sarcastic quip or some sort of sexually-based remark, but none came, causing her furrowed-in-irritation brows to relax into a curious gaze. Mr. Stark snorted heavily through his nose before turning back around and removing his glasses. He propped his elbows on the cold metal table and wrapped his fingers underneath his stubble-covered chin. A thick silence developed between the pair, daring either party to break it. Finally, the male's somber voice spread through the room and shooed the quiet away.

"So…," he drawled seemingly conflicted. Carol's head cocked to the side slightly as she waited. She was still in shock from not receiving some jackass remark. "I assume that you're wondering why I called you down here."

"That assumption would be correct, Mr. Stark."

Once again to Carol's surprise, Mr. Stark made no effort to retort in any way, excluding allowing the silence to lurk back into the room. Carol clutched her hands together and looked away to the numerous gadgets and gizmos placed randomly throughout the lab. Carol's eyes widened as the rumors were proved: Tony Stark really was the genius he claimed to be, just all wrapped up in layers and layers of asshole.

"I saw you this morning." Carol immediately snapped to attention towards Mr. Stark but remained silent as the inventor continued. "I also know you heard the little discussion Mr. Lang and I had this morning."

The assistant shook her head slightly to dispel any lingering shock and replied.

"Yes, yes I did. If you don't mind my asking, sir, what was so wrong with Mr. Long's idea?"

Carol relaxed slightly as she saw Tony barely peek over his left shoulder at her, a slight crinkle of smile lines on the outsides of his eyes.

"Lang, sweetheart. Scott Lang." The slight wrinkles vanished. "And there was absolutely nothing wrong with his idea." Carol folded her arms over her suit in confusion. Mr. Stark seemed to notice and continued. "Mr. Scott Lang is one of the most intelligent people I have ever met, besides me, of course. He's truly brilliant. Almost _too_ brilliant." He paused to turn to face Carol once again. Carol immediately noticed the guilt tracing the man's features. "His idea was to manufacture a line of telepathic helmets, which are helmets that allow the user to-."

"I know what telepathy is, Mr. Stark." The words tumbled out of Carol's mouth, and she instantly regretted them. Mr. Stark merely arched an eyebrow before continuing.

"So, telepathic helmets. He spent years on it, and finally developed a working prototype. It allowed him to communicate with other humans and for some reason, manipulate insects. He came in today to see if I would consider buying it. I wanted to. I really did."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because it worked too well." Tony paused to let the words attempted to sink in, but they remained at the surface of Carol. "Think about it: the human mind is a very powerful thing. The ability to harness it would give the wielder incalculable power. That power being in anyone's hands, much less a bad guy, could do some real damage to society as we know it." Carol nodded slowly, partially understanding, but then posed a question.

"Then why didn't you just tell him that?" A bitter chuckle tumbled in Carol's ears.

"I was _trying_ to break his spirit, so he'd give up the idea and not get himself into a bad place." With that, Tony swiveled in his chair to face away from Carol. His voice was small when he spoke.

"Carol?"

"Yes?"

"Am I a bad person?"

Carol was absolutely astonished by the utter vulnerability in her non-employer's usually brash voice. It was a sound that pleaded for comfort and absolution. Carol had never been very good at comforting, but this man was being so honest with her, that she couldn't possibly find it in her heart to do nothing.

"No, Mr. Stark…not a bad person. You're a hero and role model for so many people. You only acted in that man's best interest when you did what you did, even if your method was a bit…messy." Before she could stop herself, or even comprehend what she was doing, Carol reached out her hand and placed it as gently as she could on Tony's shoulder. She felt him tense slightly under her touch, but he relaxed a moment later.

_Damn it, now I'm going to have to burn my hand!_

Despite the escalating gross factor, Carol spoke softly.

"You're a good person. Good people do stupid things from time to time." She received a non-malicious glare, but continued. "I think you did the right thing. A little tact would go a long way with you, though." Carol cleared her throat and grinned sheepishly at Mr. Stark. To her surprise, he smiled back. The two sat in silence for moment, locked in the shockingly not-awkward understanding. Suddenly, Carol's smile dropped with a panicked flop and she swiftly removed her hand. Tony's smile melted slightly into a content slight up-turn of lips before he spoke.

"You know, you're not half-bad, Danvers."

"Well, you're only half-bad, Mr. Stark." Carol then turned to go, but Tony's voice halted her movements.

"Hey, that little creep-show," he gestured to the box in the corner of the room, and Carol began to grow nervous, "hasn't eaten in almost a month, I think. Why don't you give him a little something to eat?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "I'll bet he'd enjoy a little _blonde._"

Carol's signature wave of irritation washed over Carol, and she turned to retort.

"First off," she held up a finger, "it's not like he's just like some goldfish you can forget to feed and flush down the toilet. He needs to be fed regularly, like we do. Second," she raised a second finger, "being eaten by a seven-foot-tall alien is not really on my to-do list, so if I must, I'll try to whip something up. And third," she pointed a final finger, "I think we should take off the little tarp thing. It's gotta be pretty creepy in there all alone."

"I don't want him watching me while I work!"

"Then cover up one side! Goodness me..." Suddenly, Tony snapped his fingers as he seemed to remember something.

"Ooh, I almost forgot! Speaking of the critter, I hired someone to take a look-see at what's going on in his head." He seemed to notice Carol's look of "_I'm about to say something_" and continued. "Surprisingly enough, she has experience with aliens apparently. Not his kind, of course, but she's the closest we've got. She's going to be showing up here later today, so I would like it if you'd show her in later." Carol nodded.

"What's her name, sir?" Tony pondered for a moment.

"Dr. Karla Sofen."

Carol suddenly stiffened. She had no idea why, but something about that name sounded familiar, and not in a good way. It reminded her of _something_ unpleasant, but she couldn't exactly place what. She couldn't even be sure that she'd heard that name before, but it definitely sent up red flags all over her mind. Her eyes slowly drifted back to the box. She couldn't quite place the reasoning for the thought, but she immediately came to a conclusion:

_That woman is bad news, and she is not coming anywhere near that alien._

Carol shook her head slightly and turned to go. As she began to walk towards the door, she pondered something.

_Could I really be becoming "friends" with Tony Stark?_

_A week ago, I would have laughed and then cried in the face of the person who said it._

_But that was before I figured out that, in this house, anything could happen._

"Carol? One more thing before you go."

"Yes, sir?"

"_Carrie's the dancing queen! Only…however old you are!"_

Carol could barely hear his loud laughter over the embarrassed blood roaring in her ears as she sprinted up the stairs.

…

He had no idea how long it had been since he had last seen light.

He didn't know what time it was, or what day.

He had no way of knowing what was going on in whatever place he was in.

All he knew was the box.

Mar-Vell had been trapped in the pitch black box for what seemed to be eternity. Time seemed to pass around him. The world was shifting and changing just outside the box, but Mar-Vell's cramped black little existence remained static. He had eaten nothing and slept very little since his incarceration however long ago it had been, and the negligence towards his body had begun to take its toll. His stomach had rumbled constantly since almost immediately after the little Terrans had their little show-and-tell, and its wet echoes still rang in Mar-Vell's ears long after the tremors ceased until new ones were created to replace them. He was aware that Kree individuals could go almost a month without food and just over two weeks without water, but it was becoming swiftly apparent that the two weeks were quickly coming to an end. His throat felt dry and cracked like a dry river bed, and each breath scraped its way out in a series of rasping cacophonies.

Mar-Vell's eyes had not moved from one point on the floor of the glass cube for what seemed to be hours. He attempted to focus on the inconsequential place on the cold black floor, but try as he might; his eyes were hazy and faded in and out of focus. His blinking was slow and random, and none of them succeeded in quenching his parched eyeballs.

None of these bodily pains meant anything to Mar-Vell.

The thing that hurt him the most was his broken promises. All of them. He had made so many to different people, and with each passing hour, these covenants were becoming more and more brittle. He could hear the voices in his head of those he had hurt, or was going to hurt, as clearly as if they were in the box.

The first promise was to a female. Her voice was too thick with tears to speak at first, so he began.

"_Please_ _don't cry, Cyoris. I'll be back within a week_." Her navy blue body had trembled as she spoke, barely croaking her words.

"_B-but…what if-if you don't? What if something happens_?"

He remembered gathering her into his arms and holding her. Her tears ran onto his neck and gathered in the neckline cloth of his uniform.

"_I promise, **calima**, nothing will happen_." He smiled. "_It's me, remember?_" She let out a wet burst of laughter before pulling away and staring into his eyes.

"_I know, I know. Just…just come back safe_."

Mar-Vell's heart seemed to fill with water as it sank in its chest. He had hurt his love, his wife, his _calima. _He could scarcely imagine how she felt right now back home, his comrades telling her that he had probably died in combat. He could see her accepting the Sword of the Honored Dead as consolation. His eyes began to sting. She should never have to hurt this way, especially if he was the cause.

The next promise had been made only moments later. A youngling stared up at him. The deep navy skin of his face was streaked with twin silver rivers, the tears having started flowing long before. His voice was quiet like his mother's but, if possible, contained more emotion.

"_Please, Baba! You can't go!_"

The little voice instantly attacked Mar-Vell's tear ducts, squeezing them until they began to spill their contents into his lids. However, he refused to let them fall. It would be undignified. He remembered the pang in his heart he had felt looking upon his little son's face. He had scooped up the youngling in his arms and brought him close.

"_I have to go, Genis. It's a very important mission, and they really need me."_ He pulled back slightly and stared into the little one's eyes. _"Now, I want you to behave for your mother, all right?" _Genis had nodded and offered his father a watery smile when Mar-Vell put him down. Mar-Vell knew his son would be strong. It was in his blood. _"I promise to be home by your graduation into the academy."_ The youngling had smiled again, then returned to his mother.

The final promise was probably the hardest. He had walked over to a young female in separate from the crowd of other families gathered to see their males off on their mission. Her eyes were down-cast, her silken white hair falling over her face. The pair had stood only a foot apart, but neither moved nor spoke. There was a powerfully weighted silence lingering between the two Kree. The air between the two Kree had been nearly solid with the shared sadness and regret. After a moment of this, the female suddenly rushed forward and wrapped her arms around Mar-Vell's mid-section. He immediately returned the embrace as powerfully as he could, hearing a slight rush of air escape from the adolescent's lungs. Neither party could have cared less, each simply clinging to the other, simply daring the universe to try and tear them apart. Eventually, the pair was forced to break off their hug, and they had simply looked at each other, searching each other's eyes.

Mar-Vell's breath always caught every time he saw her. Tzu-Sanna was beautiful, just like her mother. She was strong, tough, wouldn't take no for an answer. She had inherited her father's deep coffee skin. When he looked at her, he saw perfection. He saw his daughter. He saw his little girl, almost grown at 16 sun-paths. Simply picturing her now brought violent spasms to his heart, sending crashing against his ribs and filling his eyes with its aftermath.

In that simple moment, I silent phrase had passed between them. It was simple, but heard by both involved with such force that it almost drove the pair together again.

"_I promise to keep going."_

In that moment, every conflict, every harsh word, every shed tear between the two of them regarding the other was swept away. All that mattered was the other. All that mattered to one was that the other would keep going on. Not a single word was uttered between father and daughter, but none were necessary.

The moment he had boarding the transport ship, he had broken every single promise. He had not come home in a week, or for his son's graduation. He wasn't sure if he'd ever go home, much less to see his son's greatest moment of achievement. He had promised to keep going on, but how could he, when he was trapped in a box in the dark, probably to be eaten, or skinned, or simply murdered.

It was in that moment, alone in his prison, alone in the dark, utterly alone, that he started to cry. He gave his filled eyes consent, and rivers of grief suddenly rushed down his face, their dams of strength gone. The tears painted the alien's face with the silvery color of sadness, an all-consuming sorrow that left only more of itself in its wake. He knew that he was utterly embarrassing himself, but he cared no longer. He did not care about his position, his stature or even his life now, which were all almost-definitely forfeit at this point. All he cared about were the ones he had made his promises to, and telling them one more thing before he was gone.

"I'm sorry."

It seemed like such a futile word back then. It did nothing. It solved nothing. It paid no restitution. But it was all he had to offer now. And like him, it was worthless. So, he cried.

He had been expecting to rot in this box forever. Never see light again, or taste food, or even see one of those ass-faced ugly Terrans. What he hadn't expected was a friend.

And that's exactly what he got when the tarp suddenly vanished.

…

Carol had been dancing when the elevator door flew open. Not to any music in particular, just dancing. It had been almost two hours since she had spoken with Mr. Stark (thankfully, as she probably couldn't take another dance-club joke), so she had been shakin' her thang while making her 20th sandwich when the group had come screaming into the room.

While that might seem stereotypical for a young woman to be delegated to making sandwiches, it was the most productive thing Carol had done in almost a month. She had been making as many different kinds of sandwiches with varying meats and cheeses to take to the creature in the box a story below. The feeling of empathy with the creature had still yet to fade, as well as Carol assuming that the alien was probably very hungry, so she made the sandwiches extra large as well, since a full alien is a less-likely-to-snack-on-Carol alien.

The first shout had caused Carol to jump in place and whirl around to face the screamer, sending various slices of bread and lunch meat hurtling to the floor. She stood stock still as she assessed the new comers: a furious Captain America, a grumpy Hawkeye, a shaky Dr. Banner, and Agent Drew dressed in some God-awful skin-tight red body suit that let Carol see parts of the female anatomy that he hadn't even known existed.

"YOU ALMOST GOT YOURSELF KILLED, BARTON!" Despite being one of the sweetest (_AND SEXIEST_, her inner voice screeched) people in the world, Carol was quick to discover that he could be pretty friggin' intimidating when he wanted to be. His now-mask-less face was scrunched into the visage of a livid army captain, eerily reminding Carol of Sergeant Reynolds from the Air Force Academy. He had taken maybe ten steps into the room before turning to shout at Agent Barton. The S.H.I.E.L.D agent flinched at each annunciated syllable, but always returned to his grouchy expression afterwards. Drew's expression was innocent yet concerned, as she was apparently trying to place herself between Barton and the Captain in an attempt to prevent any hero-on-hero murder. Dr. Banner looked content to simply prop himself against the bar's counter, just far enough away from Carol that he could ignore her presence without it being rude.

"HYDE COULD HAVE BROKEN YOUR BACK, IF I HADN'T BEEN THERE TO SAVE YOUR SORRY BEHIND!" With her fear-heightened senses, Carol heard almost the entire room snicker. Being frozen as she was, Carol could only giggle internally.

_Poor, poor overly-censored Steviekins._

Barton retorted in a cold tone.

"I was absolutely fine, thanks. I had him where I wanted him. If you had waited for two more seconds, I would have lined up my shot and Bruce wouldn't have had to finish Hyde off! If I'd gotten my back broken, it'd have been because of you, and your half-assed 'leadership'!"

Steve took a step forward.

_Oh shit._

"**WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!?"**

If someone had told Carol that there had been an earthquake on January 11th, 2013, and that it had destroyed most of NYC, she would have believed them. Steve's voice was terrifying, as the entire room looked at Steve as if they were cats staring at a barking dog. His shoulders were tensed as he step closure and closure to Agent Barton. Hawkeye instinctively raised a hand in defense, but the supposedly-good Captain grabbed him by the collar of his uniform. Steve effortlessly lifted Agent Barton from the ground and stared fiercely into his eyes. Agent Drew immediately stepped forward and tugged on Steve's arm in an attempt to dislodge him, but to no avail. Her thick English accent heightened in pitch as she attempted to pry the Captain from her partner.

"Please, Captain! Put him down! He didn't mean for it to sound like that! Please I…"

Simultaneously, Carol turned to Dr. Banner, who groaned and massaged his forehead. The tips of his fingers were turning an odd shade of…green…

_Oh shit. Again._

Everyone in the room besides Carol began speaking over each other.

"Don't talk to me like that EVER again, or-!"

"Oh go blow it out your spangley ass-!"

"Please you two stop this! We shouldn't be-!"

"Oh God, please not now, please not-!"

Carol, finally shaking off her stone-like state, realized what she had to do. There was too much pressure building up in this room, and it was going to blow any second. Carol harnessed her courage, took a deep breath, and attempted to dissolve the situation as professionally as she could.

"**HEY!"**

Every mouth shut and every eye was now placed on the previously invisible assistant.

"**EVERYONE CALM THE FUCK DOWN AND EAT YOUR GOD-DAMNED SANDWICHES!"** She jabbed an angry finger at the stacks of sandwiches covering the counter for emphasis. The eyes then migrated to the many lovely creations and lingered. It _was_ lunch time, and everyone was obviously crabby from hunger, so the group grudgingly decided to delay the argument until after lunch. Without a word, Steve lowered Agent Barton back down to the ground with a final glare and strode over to the multitude of sandwiches. He carefully surveyed the food before Carol piped up.

"Looking for anything in particular, Steve?"

His eyes glanced up at her. Despite still being red-faced and flustered, he pulled his lips into a small smile. His mouth began to formulate a word, but Carol's mind had already taken over.

_Hey, Steve. I made a very, VERY special sandwich just for you._

_Want to know what it is?_

_IT'S THE SANDWICH OF MY LOVE-! Wait, what the hell!?_

Carol shook her head to dispel the Tumblr-girl thoughts. That office truly _had _made her crazy.

"Got any bologna, Carol?"

Carol gestured to a large whole-wheat sandwich on the far right. Steve snatched it up and made his way to a sofa to sit. Carol would be lying if she said she didn't check him out as he walked away.

_Sweet Baby Jesus Nipple On A Cracker. I want him sexually._

The others then proceeded to file down the bar and select their sandwiches. Agent Barton adjusted the collar of his uniform while giving Carol a grumpy half-glare. He snagged a roast beef sandwich without a word. Agent Drew took a little more care in her selection, and grinned widely when she found a pastrami sandwich with Swiss cheese before bustling off to join Barton on a couch. Dr. Banner scarcely even glanced at the selection before grabbing a sandwich. He really was a low-maintenance person. Satisfied, Carol began stacking the remaining sandwiches on top of each other in preparation for giving them to E.T.-In-A-Box when she noticed something was still off about Dr. Banner. His head was bowed and his left hand was pinching the bridge of his nose. His fingers had lost some of their color, but still remained somewhat green. Carol called across the room.

"Dr. Banner, is there anything I can get you to help you…um…calm down?"

He did not look up when he spoke. His voice was strained yet thankful.

"Hot tea would be lovely, thank you. Earl Grey, if you've got it."

In a flash, Carol had bustled into the kitchen, snagged a stainless steel tea pot, placed the bags in, and started the fire.

It was then she realized that she had never made tea before yet possessed some innate knowledge of tea making. Carol's way of seeing it:

_Bitches, I'm making tea._

Just as the water had started to simmer, JARVIS called Carol out of her little self-celebration.

"_Mistress Danvers, there appears to be a woman at the elevator who wishes to speak with Master Stark."_

Carol suddenly remembered: Dr. Sofen, the inherent creeper. Carol still couldn't understand what it was about Dr. Sofen that sent hackles up her spine, but further investigation would have to wait. Carol skittered past the munching super-munchies at walked towards the elevator.

Even at first glance, Carol could fully sense something wrong with Dr. Karla Sofen. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, tall, blonde, all in all an unspectacular person. Carol stepped forward and extended a hand to the woman.

"Hello, I'm Carol Danvers, Ms. Potts's assistant. I hear you're here about the alien, right?" Carol smiled cordially, but Dr. Sofen's face remained stoic as she answered.

"Yes, I am, and I would like to get started as quickly as possible if you don't mind."

Carol's grin was flattened by the curtness of the psychologist's voice, but remained as cheerful as she could.

"Well then, follow me."

_It's her eyes._

_There's something wrong with her eyes._

The still chewing Avengers watched the blonde professional pair walk by. Carol grabbed her tray of sandwiches and heading down the stairs with Dr. Sofen in tow.

_She don't get no sandwich._

_Maybe she'll starve to death._

The pair descended the stairs and arrived at the lab's door. After three knocks from Carol's the door opened once again, but now lacking a musical explosion. Mr. Stark was quick to greet the pair.

"Ah, so you must be Dr. Sofen! It's a pleasure to meet-!"

"With all due respect, Mr. Stark, I'd like to skip the formalities and get to work right away if at all possible. This creature needs to be studied and analyzed immediately."

Stark's grin vanished as he pulled back his hand and cleared his throat.

"Oh, of course, but first, I'd like you to come with me, so I can brief you on what you're going to be dealing with."

Without another word, Dr. Sofen raced towards the door. Tony only had time to mouth two words to Carol before he followed suit.

"_Sketchy eyes."_

Then he was gone, leaving Carol to her task.

Carol bit her lip in fit, unable to wring her occupied hands. She was definitely nervous, revealing herself to a strange alien who could easily break her like a match stick. Connection or not, she wasn't taking any chances. Setting the try of sandwiches on a nearby table, she walked up to the box and gripped the thick black cloth. After a moment of hesitation, Carol ripped away the cloth and shut her eyes. She heard a loud warbling hiss, and then the quiet fluttering of the cloth, and then nothing.

Carol opened her eyes to reveal the creature within the box shielding its face from the bright lights. It was sitting, but she could still tell that it had lost considerable weight during its stay. Its ribs were clearly visible under its deep brown skin, and what Carol could see of its face was pointed and gaunt. Carol watched in awe as the creature blinked hard several times before slowly dropping its hands. It glanced around the room until its eyes fell on the blonde woman standing before him. The large white orbs shot open in astonishment, and the alien's facial expression contorted from one of fear into a look of feral suspicion, with eyes narrowed and fangs bared. The two gazes met, and that oddly familiar feeling of connection washed over Carol once again. The quiet continued, and the growl rumbling through the air slowly came to a close.

After a moment or so of incredibly comfortable silence, Carol felt her arm move, as if she had no control over its movements. It pointed a finger at her chest. Carol's lips moved under their own accord.

"Carol." Her lips spoke almost robotically, as if making sure the identification was clear to all involved. Her boxed-in counterpart stared at the finger for a moment before looking at Carol's face.

"Ca-roll?"

Stunned, Carol slowly nodded in response. He was far more intelligent than she had initially given him credit for. The creature then smiled and mirrored Carol's actions from before.

"Mar-Vell."

_Marvel?_

Carol paused for a moment before sharing her companion's smile.

_What an awesome name._

The pair was stock still for a few moments, simply staring, barely breathing. Suddenly, Carol remembered the point of her even being down here in the first place. She spun around much to the confusion of "Marvel" and walked to the tray of sandwiches. She scooped a single sandwich from the tray and carried it back to Marvel. After pressing in the key code Tony had taught her on a small code box on the right edge of the box, a small opening in the glass opened up before Carol, just small enough for the sandwich. Carol gingerly brought the human delicacy to the whole and stuck a small end through. Marvel looked quizzically at the object before cautiously taking it from Carol's hand. He brought it to his nose to sniff, and made a rather odd expression. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he sank his teeth into the sandwich. Marvel's teeth cleaved a massive hunk from the sandwich and he swallowed it instantaneously. A dreamy smile crossed his face as he locked eyes with Carol once again. Carol responded with a smile. No words were needed. Body language said it all.

"_Thank you._"

"_You're welcome."_

"IF you don't mind…" A harsh voice from behind Carol caused her to swivel in surprise. "…I'd like to get started." Dr. Sofen stood, with a hand on her hip, a clipboard in the other, and a scowl on her face. Carol turned her eyes down sheepishly and stepped to move out the door. Dr. Sofen's eyes watched her all the way. With a final glance at Marvel, she bolted up the stairs.

…

Dr. Sofen smiled darkly to herself. Everything was going so well. She eyed the alien Kree on the other side of the glass. It returned her gaze, albeit far more suspiciously. Dr. Sofen's grin only widened as she turned on her heel towards the door and locked it, making sure that there would be no unexpected visitors.

Satisfied, Karla Sofen dug her mobile from the depths of her pocket book and jabbed her speed dial number Three. She tapped a foot impatiently until a scratchy voice was heard on the other end. She narrowed her eyes bemusedly at Mar-Vell, never blinking as she responded.

"It's Sofen. Everything is going according to plan. I've received access to Subject Theta." She paused briefly, a corner of her mouth lifting in a sardonic smirk. "Don't worry. Stark and his people have no idea. If they suspect, well, I can deal with it. Alright…I understand. Yes. You too, sir. Goodbye…" The doctor paused a moment, dark eyes flicking about the room before taking a severe undertone. "…and Heil HYDRA!"


End file.
